


House of the Rising Sun

by fuzzybatbutts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Gen, Gore, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mutilation, Self-Harm, Serial Killer Dean, Serial Killers, Torture, serial killer cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzybatbutts/pseuds/fuzzybatbutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Angel Maker was a feared American serial killer who has recently been put behind bars. Castiel was content to let himself rot until his excecution date, until he gets a special visitor who throws a wrench in his plans. A mysterious man who collects serial killers around the world to work for him wants to add Cas to his collection in exchange for his freedom. But when a body shows up belonging to one of the houseguests after Cas messes up a job, one thing is made very clear to him. He is no longer welcome, and in a house where your bunk buddy could be America's most wanted, he can't afford to turn his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of the Rising Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck my life
> 
> (I'll leave links to my artist and the work she did for this on my tumblr)

Saying prison was simply a shithole was an understatement comparable to saying Jonestown an unfortunate accident and nothing more. Luckily for Cas he wasn’t going to be stuck there forever, just long enough to want to stick a needle through his eye and stand in the middle of a crosswalk with a flashing neon sign saying “HIT ME”. It wasn’t anyones fault but his own and he wasn’t in denial about that at all; he did what he did and had a damn good time doing it too, but was it really worth it? It was a question he’d been asked millions of times, by interviewers, by guards before they knocked his teeth in from being a “sick, twisted, corrupted bastard”, and the answer was a firm and enthusiastic yes.

The looks they always had on their faces were his favourite, like they were looking at the devil itself. Evil is in the eye of the beholder as they say, unfortunately some beholders are just too closed minded. 

All he had left were the memories that while at night were nearly as good and still sent chills up and down his spine, didn’t account for shit during the days he spent wasting away in a cell. Letters coated the floor of his cell and he kept his favourites tapped up on the ceiling, a pink lipstick stained sky of admiration. Each often signed with a spritz of cheap flowery perfume or included a lock of hair with a picture of the sender. He wasn’t supposed to have them, but the guards were happy to turn a blind eye since it made their jobs easier when Cas was happy. There wasn’t much you could do with paper, much less try something drastic unless you though a viable suicide method was giving yourself a million paper cuts. 

“Oh Castiel! You don’t know how much you mean to me, they don’t understand us, our love!”

“I’ll see you in heaven my darling, I know that’s where you’ll be.”

“Please respond, you understand me right? I’m not alone in this, am I?”

Most were outright sexual, not caring about the guards that would have to sift through them. Saying what they’d do to him, what they wanted him to do to them. They wanted him to tie them up, fuck them until they bled, one sender had actually requested he eat them afterwards. A back alley bdsm dungeon in pen and ink, with little feathers hidden between slips of paper. Feathers weren’t his style, but he guessed it came with the trademark. Cas knew all about whips and chains, but not from the end they were hoping for. He was happy the jumpsuits were collared. 

The majority were women anyway, young and starved for attention, but some had a genuine interest in him and what he did. They asked questions, rather than ranting about their problems. It was nice seeing a sliver of intelligence among them, diamonds in a field of hormones and parental issues. Craving the rawest form of attention, throwing themselves at his feet saying they’d happily stay at his side and butcher for him so he could rest easy. They’d be the Bonnie to his Clyde.

Honestly he thought it was creepy in most cases. Why would he want someone to kill for him? Killing was the whole point there was no joy in being a voyeur. It didn’t soothe the itch in his hands, the fire in his stomach. Having thousands of young women throw themselves at him like dogs was disturbing, even when compared to him he thought it was nuts. He’d never bothered to say anything about him not being interested in the opposite sex. The last thing he needed was a flashing headline declaring America’s former most wanted was gay, though it would be interesting to see the zealots declare that this was all the proof they needed to condemn every gay person on the planet. 

But it was entertainment which was scarce in jail, watching the life time inmates terrorize the new meat got old fast and it was really just a test to weed out the idiots. Reacting got you bruises and some creepy guy named Bruce breathing down your neck, staying quiet only made some try harder. Some of the inmates would place bets on who’d become whose bitch, who’d be the first to punch their ticket to Hell, and who would wind up with a toothbrush in the side. Cigarettes were usually the payment method, but he’d seen everything from heroin to a deck of cards be thrown on the table. He loved gambling, but he could never take part in the dealings since he didn’t have anything to trade.

Cas stabbed at a pile of steamed vegetables with severe disinterest, wishing he was allowed to eat in his tiny cell. The cafeteria was always loud, filled to the brim with voices trying to outshout each other. It was general breakfast chatter, bitching about other inmates, telling jokes, retelling the stories of their crimes or wishing for their families. No one dared complain about the food as tasteless as it was, pissing off the cook was a mistake made once and only once by new inmates. Today’s newest bit of gossip was about some suspected serial killer in either Norway or Slovakia, they couldn’t remember which. Apparently he had a suspected two hundred heads and disappearances under his belt since he lead some weird assassins guild or something. Cas called bullshit, tales spread by dying men and nothing more but he didn’t have other people to talk to. He was segregated from everyone else by his bright orange jumpsuit indicating they couldn’t sit by him. Whenever someone had to walk by his table, they put their heads down and shuffled by, like looking at him was poison. Or they’d shoot him a big smile he’d half assedly return, before glaring at their backs when they passed. Even in here he had fanboys

Scowling, he shot a look over to the table beside him which were nearly shouting about some grand heist a guy with horribly bleached hair had pulled. To him at least, he looked like the kind of guy who was more comfortable being bent over the hood than behind it. He couldn’t stand the noise anymore, it filled up the space he craved the most and made him feel even more caged. He could still think freely but noise made it near impossible to concentrate on anything for very long. 

Eager to leave the noisy place, he shoveled the last of his food into his mouth and tried not to gag, a skill necessary in most aspects of prison life. Dumping his tray on top of the reeking garbage can, he slipped out of the cafeteria without attention being drawn. Cas hated when guards would call him out and demand he sit with them for awhile since they weren’t ready to leave. They smelled bad and regurgitated the same horseshit stories as the inmates for awhile before the newer ones started begging for him to tell his. Even the most yellowbellied, after seeing the tips of the rotten wings peeking out from under his t-shirt would shakily walk up and ask the popular question, “Can you tell me about it?”

Word in prison spread fast so most everyone knew about him, but that didn’t mean he was proud. The first time he’d showered had been a nightmare but not for the reason you’d expect in a male prison. Someone had screeched out his name, and suddenly half a dozen naked men were stuffing questions and praises down his throat or calling him a beast and threatening to do vile things with his organs. It was annoying, and ever since he’d always showered when everyone else was eating or elsewise preoccupied. Security let it slip since they never had enough staff to parole him all the time.

Two years it’d been the same schedule, maddening as it was he knew damn well that it could be worse. He’d gotten a small amount of anonymity through months of silence, so he could follow through with it without many roadbumps. With his morning bag in hand, he sauntered down to the showers with nothing but dead bug carcasses in halls as his company. Death row inmates generally were forbidden from even looking at normal inmates but his block had been burnt to the ground only a week after he’d arrived and the state couldn’t be bothered to care. As long as he died eventually, they pretended not to notice and barely even investigated the incident. 

His hands had smelt like burning wires for weeks afterwards, but no one bothered to check. It was an old building they said, accidents were bound to happen.   
~

The showers were, unfortunately, occupied signified by the pair of unashamedly loud moans and cries and curses involving father figures resonating from the inside of a stall. Rolling his eyes, he picked his usual stall at the end of the row, quickly stripped naked and threw the clothes under the sinks praying the wouldn’t be covered in little hairs when he retrieved them. It was a mystery how the entire bathroom was covered in hair and one that was best left unresolved. The entire place stunk of mildew, from the grimy yellow tile, to the dingy lights that flickered constantly, everything was nasty and probably alive with every disease under the sun.

He hissed when the water hit his back, it was like being hit with shards of ice that smelled like sewage. Cold water was the price of showering late. Hopping around from foot to foot trying to stay warm he quickly washed his hair, hissing as the cheap shampoo leaked into his eyes and stung. The cheap stuff seemed to burn more, maybe because it was so “manly” as the bottle advertised that he was expected to brush off the pain. 

He scraped off a layer of grime from his arms taking special care not to scrub too hard over the tattoos. They weren’t too hard to maintain, but they’d cost him a nice chunk of change so he was protective. The various ones scattered over his skin weren’t as important but they were so scarred he suspected they were engraved into the bone. Those he was happy to scrub raw, almost believing that rubbing off the layer of skin could help wash away the droning memories of this place. No matter what he did he always smelled like it and it revolted him, sweat and musk burned into the walls. He rubbed the raised lines on his elbow trying to take his mind off it, feeling the spot in the webbing where the artist had run out of ink and it was left blank. Never trust a guy who called himself Leonardo to tattoo you, but he felt it gave it charm. Spiderwebs meant long sentences and that was true, but his time was almost up, like he’d broken through the web of a spider only fall into the gullet of a beast. The card deck was his least favourite; he’d never been a fan of tramp stamps. 

Slipping back into his sandals with a towel around his waist, Cas rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin and scowled. Everywhere else on his body was normal, but his face was constantly bearing a signature five o’clock shadow. The issued razors weren’t amazing on the better days so it did little to stop him from looking like he had dried mud all over his cheeks. It didn’t matter, he didn’t have the energy to shave it and didn’t want to stick around for when his moaning counterparts were finished. 

After he’d retrieved the now fuzzy bag, Cas threw his jumpsuit back on and headed for the his solitary dorm. It was the one place he was allowed to be and it was under constant supervision. He could eat with the others since it wasn’t equipped to have food delivered, but besides his activity, there he had to stay. If he somehow left his little grey slice of paradise, an alarm would sound and he’d be thrown into a max security facility two hours down the road or just beaten senseless by the guards. His usual day plan was just to just sit down and re-read some shitty murder mystery novel sent in by a fans. They were always chalk full of the usual cliches and “plot twists”, with the spunky little detective who couldn’t stop screwing everything in her path. 

The smell of the worn book make him smile, it was a calming scent that reminded him of the old library he’d lived by. It was really the only place he missed besides his workshop, that and the tiny coffee shop on the outskirts of town where he used to work when he was a kid. 

He’d just been getting to the part where the perky Detective Anderson met the mysterious Mr. W, when the intercom buzzed on. It was fuzzy and full of static, the drawl voice cutting in and out of the speaker. 

“Novak to visitation, repeat, Novak to visitation.”

“What the Hell?”

Cas was stunned, visitation? Death row got phone calls three times a week if they were lucky, maybe more if they were dying of some unnatural disease. He’d denied any requested visits from old boyfriends since he didn’t want to see them behind glass. Novak wasn’t a common last name, so it wasn’t like they were paging someone else and he was simply mistaking it for himself. Who would want to see him anyway? His brothers had been driven to opposite ends of the globe, the nearest living last he’d heard, somewhere in Rio and the farthest in Shanghai. Fuck knows where Dad was, he’d probably need to pass a breathalizer test to enter and he knew how that would have turned out. 

Staring at his shoes still dumbfounded, he failed to notice when his usual two guards were glowering down at him. 

“Come on Novak,” mumbled Max, a stout little man with graying hair as he held up a tangled wad of chains, “We haven’t got all day. Let’s just get this done with.”

~  
Cas’ wrists burned from the shackles scraping against his skin as he shuffled down the hall. Eyes burnt a hole in the back of his head and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to turn around and flip them all off. He felt like he was being shown off, like prized pig about to be slaughtered. It was just a guest, he kept telling himself, a guest that should never have been allowed to be there in the first place because he refused any visitors, but a guest. The guards marched him past the dim hallway that lead to his usual visit area and through a gate he’d never been permitted to be more than six meters close to. Instead they lead him down to the place where the well behaved inmates could speak to people face to face as long as they were handcuffed. 

“Hey uh,” stammered Cas, “this isn’t my place. It’s back there, I’m not supposed to be over here.”

“Shut up Novak.”

Visitation was actually much better kept than the rest of the prison so the family and friends wouldn’t realize how bad it was. Of course it was all a massive lie but one loved ones happily swallowed so they wouldn’t go mad when they realized just where they were. It looked like a halfway house. The walls were a cheery shade of yellow and the lights were just a little too bright and invasive. Like, “Hey your loved one isn’t locked in a hellhole! Please leave now!”

All the tables were barren which was to be expected, except for the one smack dab in the middle of the room. The guards pulled open the metal door shoved him into the room so hard he stumbled and nearly smashed his face into a chair, and the clunk noise of the door being locked sounded. Leaving a death row inmate with a visitor? Were they fucking nuts today? Was there some crazy inducing fever going around he wasn’t aware of?”

Regaining his balance, he fixed his gaze on the woman leaning back in her chair who was eyeing him like a show pony. She had cropped red hair and a grin on her face, but there was something off in her eyes, like they were too bright. In a hoodie and faded jeans, she looked way too comfortable for Cas’ liking. When she caught his gaze, she jumped up and walked over with a hand extended. 

“Hey! You’re Castiel if I’m not mistaken!”

Her voice was pleasant, almost bubbly. 

“Yeah,” said Cas, struggling to raise a cuffed hand to take her own, “that’d be me last time I checked. Can I ask who you are?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets,” she winked, sitting back down. He figured it was a nice way of saying “Fuck off”. 

Raising an eyebrow he followed suite and painfully shuffled his way over to the table, maneuvering around his chains to sit himself in the plastic chair. She waited with her hands folded on the table, drumming an index on the surface and still smiling. The minute he settled, she pounced on him like a wild cat. 

“So Cas, you’re death row right? Man that’s gotta be something, US hasn’t had an execution in years. Even good old Ramirez bit it before he was formally executed, damn paperwork. You given much thought as to how you’re gonna go out? You seem like a pretty morbid guy so I hope you don’t mind me picking your brain here. I mean it is viewers choice here.”

He wasn’t sure how to proceed with the conversation, his counselor was the only one he’d ever spoken with about how he was going to die. Wasn’t exactly a conversation he had with strangers, so he just leaned back in his chair and monitored what he said closely. 

“Electrocution doesn’t seem half bad, I just don’t think I’d look very good bald y’know? Don’t have the face shape for it. Firing squad is meh, they have the whole blank round thing so they don’t even feel that guilty so I mean what’s the point? Gas chamber isn’t ideal, choking to death isn’t my cup of tea. Lethal injection is just downright depressing, and hangings really dramatic. Unless I can paper cut myself to death or want to chew off my own tongue, don’t have a way to get out. What exciting choices I have.”

She shrugged, “Death by cop or fellow inmate is always an option right.”

He tried not to seem appalled, was this girl trying to suggest ways for him to die? Seemed a little harsh. 

“How long do you reckon you’ve got? ”

“What, before they force the proverbial Kool-aid down my throat? Let’s see,” Cas slumped over and propped his head up on his palm, “At least another six, maybe four if i’m lucky, years. They’re taking extra precaution with my case even though I admitted to everything, plus the death house is going under some renovations so it’ll be awhile unless they ship me someplace else. I doubt they’d take the risk.”

She smirked and leaned forward, “I’m pretty confident in saying, well your life kinda sucks. Am I right?”

“Unless being crammed in a tiny cell block all day and being scared to do anything is your idea of a party, yeah I’d say it’s a fair assumption.”

The girl raised an eyebrow and put on a knowing smile. There was something about her that just didn’t seem right, or no, it was something else. The bright red hair and the smile looked familiar, he knew he’d seen her before. Maybe just a passing stranger, but he knew this girl, no doubt. “Anyone tried to escape from here before?”

“There was one. Happened a few days after I got in,” answered Cas, “place is pretty secure. His name was Tom or something, big skinhead who was going to be in here for life. He managed to tear a hole in the gate outside where it hadn’t been repaired yet. Shot him dead before he got a mile.”

Tom was a legend in the prison, everyone knew about him. Apparently he’d been a nasty S.O.B who liked to stick anyone that had a skin tone a shade darker than his own, then blame it on one of his lackies that hung around. More blood had been spilled by his hands than any of the murderers in here alone, and he’d only been in for bank fraud. Cas thought it was funny how people never really showed who they were until you took away everything they had. If you were going to die might as well die yourself. 

“How’d they find out he was gone?”

“Idiot was a six-foot-six tattooed steroid junkie running across the yard who had just broken a guard’s nose because they didn’t want him in the yard, he wasn’t hard to spot. That and he told any and everything that breathed how he was getting out. I can’t talk to people and I found out.”

The girl sighed, “Man, people these days have no idea how it’s done. Brute force doesn’t do anything, it’s the brains that get out and stay out. You ever try to escape?”

“For what?” he snorted, “living on the run my entire life? Being forced to live in some shitty village down south or bunk with some crazy fanatic who’ll probably try to sell pictures of me sleeping to people on the internet? Fuck that I’d rather spend the rest of my life in here and force the guards to scrub the piss stains off the chair when they zap me.”

“I get the feeling you’re not the optimistic type.”

“Do I have a lot to be optimistic about?”

“Okay fair point, but not everything has to be all doom and gloom I hope you know that.”

Cas started pulling on his chains, clanking the links together as he stared at her. “I have a question for you though, how in the hell are you here? Death row isn’t the visitation block, much less face to face like this.”

“Friends in high places,” smirked the woman, crossing her hands in the table, “it’s a useful thing to have when you’re me. I’m here because I represent someone who’s very interested in you and in what you do. Not every day someone comes along and can pull of what you have.”

He pulled back, disgust evident on his face, “Interested in me? Oh god please tell they’re not crazy, I’m done with crazy. If you want me to perch on someone’s lap and brag to them about my case then you’re barking up the wrong goddamn tree. Or if he’s doing this to get some kind of special “one of a kind” interview tell him he can stick it.”

“No idiot, what he’s offering is much better than that. He got me in to talk to you without batting an eyelash, he’s the reason you’re here without a straightjacket and muzzle on. Castiel, what he’s offering is a way out of this place. You hate it here, I can tell and so can he. Unless you want to be jail bait for the rest of your life, I suggest you listen to me and take what i say seriously.”

Her voice was suddenly harsh and devoid of the previous humor it held, extremely intimidating and commanding. He could tell she wasn’t messing around, so he leaned forward and listened intently. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in close so it was impossible for anyone else to hear. Her breath was warm on his ear, and she spoke with haste. 

“If you’re really interested, don’t eat the food tonight. Just stay in your cell and wait, and check under your pillow. There’ll be a vial, drink it after the lights go out, but don’t eat anything before or go to the bathroom, it won’t have the desired effect and you won’t get out. Don’t chug the entire thing at once or it’ll fry your brain. Drink about half, then wait until about five minutes, you’ll get this warm feeling. Drink the other half, then lay down. I’m not allowed to say what’ll happen, but if you have any second thoughts for whatever reason, don’t touch it. If everything goes well I’ll see you again. Don’t think this is a charity though, once you get out you will owe who sent me. It won’t be a cakewalk either. Do you understand? Don’t reply out loud. Just say your goodbye and try sound sincere. The guards know I’m here but if they get a hint why, deal’s off so keep your trap shut.” 

Nodding, he pulled back and put on the most sincere smile he could manage. “Christ it’s been so long, I can’t remember the last time I got to see you! It sucks you can’t stay for longer, give Mom my best okay?”

The woman beamed back at him, “Sure thing, I’ll try to come back some time soon Cas!”

She stuck out her hand for him to shake again and pressed a thin piece of paper into it before promptly turning around and walking out, giving him a small wave behind her back. The guards hadn’t taken notice of her departure yet since they were busy guffawing at something on ones phone. Clearing his throat and scowling, Cas banged the chains hard against the table denting it in a place and making one jump with surprise. “Alright Novak don’t get your panties in a knot we’re coming. Asshole.”  
~  
The paper only had three words on it, written in blue pen.

The Illinois Arsonist 

Fuck.

The Illinois Arsonist had been one of the most wanted criminals in the United States before being caught in 2012. They’d made themselves known when they caused the deaths of at least seventy six people when they’d set fire to a massive downtown office building and barred the doors, before igniting a rigged firebomb that collapsed several floors and only spread the chaos. It was treated as a stand alone incident but soon it was proven wrong. After that at least six more major buildings were rigged and set ablaze, before a wandering security guard had found an unfinished one in the basement of his building. They caught the arsonist and charged them with, earning a life sentence for nearly every life taken, and extra time for the property damage and third degree burns suffered by survivors. For reasons unknown to most, only one picture was ever released and it shocked most people. 

The arsonist had been a young female by the name of Charlie, barely an adult and she showed no remorse whatsoever even when confronted by the screaming family members. In the documented courtroom footage, she’d put up an amazing fight but eventually was sentenced to rot in prison and was marched out of the House of Justice with a smile on her face after blowing a goodbye kiss to her girlfriend. She was a hot topic for months afterwards since it was one of the most violent crime sprees in a long time, and the fact that it had been committed by such a young woman made most people sick to their stomachs.

Cas had just been face to face with her.

It made him shiver, knowing how many lives she’d taken and he held no doubt that she’d do it again. Even he’d only taken the lives of about a dozen people, and he’d just had a conversation with her about somehow getting him out of jail. The eyes had given it away. Once a person had taken a life, their eyes changed. An unnatural brightness set in them, a kind of enlightenment mankind was never supposed to have. Knowing you have power over life and death awakens something, after all eyes are windows to the soul. 

The metal of the cuff bit into his skin as the guards jerked it around trying to wiggle the key into the slot. He winced and rubbed the tender flesh before a palm slammed into his back and he fell forward with a yelp. The guards slammed the door shut and he heard the angry blaring of the siren signaling his door was locked. They’d left his ankle bar on, so Cas had to crawl on his stomach to his bed where he could haul himself up. With a grunt he grabbed a fistful of the sheet and heaved himself on the mattress, cursing the guards as he did so. Still partially confused as to why he’d even gotten to see her, Cas went to lay his head on his pillow when he remembered what Charlie had told him. He couldn’t bring it out now in case the camera at the corner of his cell picked it up, but he slipped a hand under the pillow. 

Sure enough, there was a tiny glass vial with what felt like a cork in the top. When he moved it, he could hear a liquid sloshing around in it. It wasn’t very noisy, so it must have been pretty full. He’d have to wait until around nine when everyone else would be locked in and he wouldn’t be the main attraction. Guards would have to watch everyone wandering through the halls, so eyes could be off him long enough for him to take whatever the Hell was under his pillow.

The clock in the meeting room said it was 2pm. He hopped over to the pile of books in the corner of his cell and picked the first one off the top, ignoring the half finished murder mystery he’d been reading before. Patience was the one thing he had going for him, an essential thing for an inmate, especially one on death row, to have.  
~

Cas hadn’t been able to sit still since he’d gotten back. Pacing the tiny room, flipping through books trying to find something interesting, talking to himself. One of the guards had threatened that if he didn’t settle down they would have to come in there and chain him to the bed. Resisting a smart ass comeback, Cas simply gave up and laid down on the floor. The cool tile felt good on his cheek, the hardness of the stone gave him something to focus on for the moment. It smelled horrible, a mix of putrid feet and lemon cleaning chemicals that burned his nostrils, but the momentary pain was another small distraction. 

He tapped random beats into his ankle bar with a pencil until he was again threatened with being chained. Cas wanted to scream into his pillow out of frustration.

When nine finally rolled around he almost cried in relief. He lay on the bed pretending to sleep as he listened to the soft pattering of the inmates shoes on the floor. With small twitches of his fingers, he coaxed the tiny bottle from underneath the pillow and slid it beneath his fingers. If he tried to use both his hands for anything they’d see something was up. 

The cork caught against his nail as he scraped against it, tugging it out of the hole. The vial looked more threatening than it should have. It was just a tiny glass bottle, but he had no idea what was in it. It didn’t smell and lacked any color, which was an immediate warning sign. He’d never used drugs other than chloroform to knock the occasional loud mouth out, but he’d learned the hard way from hook ups at shady dives that if it didn’t at least smell it equaled trouble. It didn’t even have the weird metallic scent of tap water in case they were going for a placebo effect.

He sent a quick prayer to whatever God was listening and took a swig. It didn’t taste like anything either, but it took all the moisture out of his mouth as it went down and burned a fire trail down his throat. His mouth felt like a desert and it made him want to gag; instead he just let out a few weak coughs and rolled on his back. 

Charlie had been right, small pricks like needles were beginning to make themselves known in his fingertips and toes which were slowly spreading. He felt like he was being stabbed by a nervous acupuncturist who’d just taken a hit of cocaine. In the room, Cas could feel the temperature rise what felt like a degree or two, so he kicked off the blankets he’d been hiding under and rolled back on his side. 

The tingle was everywhere now, like little cat claws kneading into his skin. It was uncomfortable, like his whole body was falling asleep. Raising the vial again, he braced himself for another wave of the dryness and drained the entire glass. 

The pinpricks turned instantly into a stabbing feeling, like his blood had turned to jagged shards desperate to escape his skin. It was even behind his eyes, little daggers trying to blind him and cut their way out of his sockets. The teeth felt like they were pushed out of his mouth, and his fingernails felt like they were being ripped clean in half. His calves and back seized, the muscles spasming out of control. Warmth in his body turned to a fire in his lungs and when Cas tried to breathe it was like he was inhaling pure smoke. Slowly, a white haze crept into the corners of his eyes, filling his vision near completely. A sudden wave of nausea ripped through his guts, violently expelling what little food he had left in his system. Stomach acid and soggy chunks of god knows what burst through his mouth and onto the floor, and it felt like all of his organs were going to come with it. 

Cas tried to sit up and move to the toilet in his cell, but the second his head lifted from the pillow the room flipped on its side. It was a dizzying, vomit inducing, maelstrom of pain in his body and he couldn’t help the cry of pain from the twisting of his muscles. His body jackknifed at the waist and the resulting movement made his head swim in a sea of white haze. A low buzzing filled his ears, like cicadas were creeping into his skull. 

A siren from down the hall sung out, invading his head with a hellish metallic orchestra complemented with the hideous scraping noise of iron against stone. His door was open, probably just the medics coming to pump his stomach of whatever hellish drug he’d just taken. However in the white film covering his eyes, there was a flash of red hair, and the sounds of a female barking orders. Their faces were covered by harlequin masks, blurs of red and blacks twisted around golden eyes. The last thing Cas saw before a rag was placed over his mouth was a crude, raised scar on the man’s wrist. It looked like a brand, a small sun design burned into his flesh.   
~  
“Cas, be quiet! If that lunatic finds out we’re up here I swear to God I’ll beat you myself!”

“Michael! Shut the fuck up! He’s just a kid, if anyone’s being obnoxiously loud it’s you! He’s scared, his wrist probably still hurts too. Gabriel, see if you can calm him down, I’m going to go check on Mom.”

“Lu, what the Hell do you think do you think you’re doing? If that whackjob finds us you know how much trouble we’ll be in? You’re risking all our safety!”

“At least I give a rats ass Michael, she’s our mom, I’m not going to sit up here and listen to this anymore. What if he puts her in the hospital again? We don’t have the money for that, and we can’t take skimp anywhere else unless you feel like dropping out of school.”

“You’re a fucking idiot Lu.”

“Take care of Cas for me Gabe, make sure he gets the fuck out of here the minute Dad starts with me. Even if you have to sleep on a bench, he can’t spend the night here.”   
~  
Cas sat at the top of the stairs with a hand on his cheek, swallowing sobs of pain knowing if Dad heard him it’d be a lot worse. Footsteps were behind him, but he didn’t care who it was at this point.   
“Castiel?”  
He turned around, “Mom?”  
“Yes baby it’s me. Come on, you need to get some sleep. Your dads out and you need to be in bed by the time he gets home.”  
~  
Cas awoke to the gentle hum of a car engine, the scratchy floor felt like velcro gluing his body to it. His muscles had turned to lead and his joints to wood. It was like he hadn’t moved in days, even his eyes had dried out so much that they stuck to his lids. For what seemed like an hour he focussed on slowly flexing all the muscles in his body, trying to bring life back into them. When he could move his finger enough, he pried open his eyes, only to flinch back at the offending light being shone in his face. 

“Rise and shine Cas!”

Cas felt like a puppy opening his eyes for the first time, slowly adjusting to his surroundings. He was in the back of a Jeep that reeked of body odor and of the chemical pine probably leaking from an air freshener somewhere. There was the damp smell of earth in the air too, and he could feel a strong, cold wind brushing over him. Whatever road they were on clearly hadn’t been cared for in years since the Jeep was bucking up and down wildly and a cloud of dust marked where they’d been. Small stones clanked against the undercarriage of the vehicle as they sped along, sounding like rain on a tin roof. It seemed very early in the morning as he watched the first rays of sun just peaking through the trees. 

Bracing himself, he slid his hands under himself and pushed himself up. He felt weaker than a kitten and the effort broke him out into a sweat. Greasy hair hung in his face, so he swatted it out of the way and looked up at his captors. 

Charlie looked down at him with a smile that was all too cheery for his liking and beside her sat two skinny men with massive bags under their eyes. They were all pressed into the back corners of the Jeep, like he was a diseased rat and they didn’t want to touch him out of fear they’d contract whatever sickness he carried. 

“What happened?” he jaw creaked as he spoke, and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth. 

“About three times the recommended amount of ketamine and a plane ticket happened.”

“Ketamine? You drugged me with ketamine?” said Cas astonished. Ketamine wasn’t something he was used to seeing, inmates hardly ever smuggled it in, but he still knew what it was.

“Well…” admitted Charlie, “it wasn’t all ketamine. There’s a few more things mixed in there, just to keep you out while we got you this far. Can’t have you seeing our little secret hideout.”

Cas’ arms gave out from underneath him and he fell forward on the floor. One of the men reached towards him, but Charlie barred him with her arm. “No helping initiates remember? If he can’t handle a little ketamine dose he’s going to have a hard time where we’re going.”

“We can’t have him going to the Boss looking like this.”

Charlie let out an exasperated sigh and shot the man a nasty look, “He’s going to see him at a lot worse. We can’t treat him any different because he’s the special little snowflake Boss requested. If Cas can hold is own like this, he’ll look even better.”

The man glared down at his feet and shook his head, Charlie rolled her eyes and turned back to Cas. “I’ll explain things later, just know that in about an hour, you’re going to be meeting the most important man in your life. Word of advice, don’t piss him off.”  
~  
Riding in a car with two complete strangers and a convicted mass murderer was surprisingly dull. They only spoke to each other, and it wasn’t in a language Cas knew. Deciding he should get his bearings together, he started working on getting feeling back into his body. As frustrating as it was only being able to move a few fingers at a time, the little panicking voice in the corners of his head warned him what could happen if he wasn’t ready. The longer Cas had to wait the more paranoid he was getting. What could this guy possibly want from a now ex-convict who’d been deemed too dangerous to be around normal people?

He started jotting down a list of people it could be in his head as a distraction to soothe his nerves which at this point, were shot to shit. Absolute worst case scenario, it was some fat greasy guy named Mario who got off on convicts and wanted a new toy. Cas had done his damnest to make sure he wasn’t the resident cockslut in his block, and despite failing miserably on most occasions and not being as regretful as he should have been, the idea of playing slave to some guy who could give a 70s porn star a run for his money was enough to make him want to throw himself under a bus. 

Other worst case scenario Cas figured was some religious nutbag who viewed Cas as a disciple of something and wanted Cas to preach to his flock the ways of God. Even looking at a bible was enough to make Cas’s cheek hurt, and reading from one every day and being expected to abstain from all the good in life would make him happily walk back into his cell and put the cuffs on himself. 

If he was lucky, it was probably some guy who felt bad for him and just wanted to “rehabilitate” Cas in his own special little way. Either that or he’d be doing farm work until the day he died. The endless amount of possibilities was starting to twist in his guts, panic was rising in his neck and he only hoped he wasn’t turning red. 

Any sad excuse for conversation he tried to start was cut down or just flat out ignored. He tried to turn his attention to the forest outside, but they were moving so fast the mess of greens and browns made his head hurt. It was watching a living kaleidoscope that made his eyes ache and his head dizzy. He didn’t want to sleep, and something tugging at the back of his mind warned him away from it. Ketamine was still in his system, meaning he wouldn’t have control of his dreams if he passed out. 

Pressing himself against the back seat of the Jeep, he curled his legs up to his chest and tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about when they’d knocked him out. People talking, but that was it. Michael, Lu, Gabriel, those were his brothers names. If it was dark, they were probably hiding in their shared closet in the attic. Cas still remembered how it always smelled like mothballs and sawdust, and how it was the brothers safe haven growing up. There’d been a lot of time spent in there, huddled together under Michael and Lu’s arms while pretending not the hear the frenzied screams and moans of a woman in pain. 

It wasn’t a place he was eager to go back to, even in his dreams. Cas’ memories of his family were locked up securely in the vaults of his mind with “Fuck Off” painted clearly across the keypad. If ketamine meant vivid dreams, he’d have to start getting creative and hiding the drug if they made him take it anymore. 

The car came to an abrupt stop, vaulting Cas forward and nearly throwing him out of the back. His face smashed on the floor and Cas felt a small trickle of blood in his lip where the teeth had gone right through. He brought a hand to his mouth and grimaced, prodding the shredded flesh with his tongue. It burned, but he’d definitely had a lot worse. 

Rubbing the sore spot, he got on his knees and looked through the windshield of the car. There were a set of old iron gates standing in their way with small barbs laced through the top. It gave off a soft hum like a bees nest. For it to make that much noise it must have been heavily electrified; a human bug zapper in the middle of only God knew where. The others started to climb out of the Jeep so Cas followed suite. 

His back popped and he left like a limp noodle as he stretched, it felt really good to finally be standing again. Charlie barked an order at the driver and waved her hand back the road they came on, and the car quickly reversed and drove away. Cas couldn’t see how they were getting passed the gate since it was clearly designed with the intention telling people to screw off. Stepping forward to examine it closer, he noticed under a thick layer of grime, a design was fused to the fronts of the gates. A tribal sun, the same one branded on one of the men who’d kidnapped him wrist. Only this one had a lot more detail, painstakingly etched into the metal. It looked like a labyrinth was inside the body of the sun, and at the center was a crude little house. The design looked like it belonged on a crest, not the run down fence of something hidden away. 

Charlie came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got to keep going, we need to be there before the suns up. Walk in front of me and I’ll just tell you where you need to go.”

Cas nodded his head and obeyed, turning around and walking back to the group as directed. She let out a harsh whistle to get the boys attention and immediately they jumped up and started walking into the bush. She drummed a finger on Cas’ shoulder telling him to get going, so he followed the men deep into the bush still following the fenceline. 

“I feel like I should have a red hood and a picnic basket right now.”

Charlie snickered, “We’re not the wolves you need to be worrying about Castiel. Pack leader should be your focus, not us.”

Oh joy

“So,” asked Cas in an effort to drive the conversation away from the mysterious figure who it seemed was about to dictate his entire life, “what would happen if someone jumped this fence? It looks electrified, but it’s not that high.”

“Monomolecular wire,” put in one of the men up front, “sharpened to a point, it’ll cut you to ribbons if you so much as touch it. So if a wandering kid decided he wanted to scope things out, he’d be sliced into neat little chunks before his feet touched the ground.”

“How charming.”

Their feet crunched against layers of soggy leaves littering the forest floor, dew had already started seeping into Cas’ shoes. It was cold and extremely unpleasant, but he got the notion complaining wouldn’t get him very far wherever he was apparently going. He tried not to let his face screw up as his socks grew damp and clung to his feet like glue. 

The walk seemed an eternity, so when they finally stopped Cas tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. Here the fence looked no different, but Charlie fearlessly grabbed a hold of the iron and hopped over. Cas nearly cried out, remembering what he’d been told and he had no desire to see Charlie turn into a bloodied mess. But her feet touched the ground without deviance and she waved him on. Hands shaking, he curled a hand around the fence and still half expected to start convulsing on the ground. Instead he was greeted with nothing but cold metal and the feeling of dread lifted from his chest.

Putting both hands on the fence, he vaulted himself over and landed on his feet on the other side. “How the hell do you remember which part isn’t electrified? It all looks the same!”

“It’s a rough guess really, it’s about five minutes to this spot. So about five minutes in I go hey what the hell let’s try here!”

Cas gave her an astonished look, “You’re fucking insane.”

“Looks who’s talking,” she put on a fake pout, “and besides, Cas, how many times have I done this before? Answer, a lot. The little kick of adrenaline is nice, keeps things interesting. Besides, people are smarter than you’d think. We can’t have a marker or anything obvious since people would know something’s different.”

“What the hell are you guys even doing over here? How illegal is it that you need a giant ass fence of death to protect it? And isn’t having this thing a dead give away? Like hey there’s not a bunch of rabid ex convicts running around murdering small children and sacrificing chickens! Nope no suspicious activity here!”

Charlie spun around on her heels and reached her arms up, placing them on Cas’s shoulders and squeezing. “Cas,” she said, looking into his eyes and giving him a slight shake, “shut the fuck up and walk.”  
~  
When you’re a serial killer on the run from the police and wanted in every state or province of your home country, you’re used to staying in shitty and weird places. Cas had slept in everything from farmers fields to textile factories cuddled up to heroine addicts. Abandoned buildings were something that came with the territory if you were dumb enough to get caught, but the place in front of him was something else.

It had to be at least seven stories high, built more like a castle or old fashioned church than anything else. Several small towers came to peaked points at randomly inserted places in the building. The outside was made entirely of brick and rounded stones, both faded and extremely weather worn. The front was covered in giant windows, most barred up but all maintained in fair condition. Doors of what looked like solid oak stood at least nine feet high, set into the brick under an alcove supported by massive columns. It had to be at least a century if not more older. It looked like someone had cut up a million different blue prints and pasted them together. 

The courtyard was mostly overgrown and native grasses and flowers grew freely. Mist was pouring in from the back of the building, leaving the air with a thick, damp chill that settled in his bones. It was completely surrounded by a barrier of trees on all sides protecting it from prying eyes, and he could hear the faint roar of a river coming from behind the building. A crude gravel walkway had been trampled to the doorway, twisting around massive yew and hazel trees that hadn’t been trimmed in decades. A stone fountain filled with rotted leaves was placed in the middle of the yard, water trickling out of the eyes and trumpets of the various angels perched on the statue. Many once had wings, but they were broken off and lay in pieces in and around the fountain. Moss grew on their faces and marble robes, slowly covering the fallen angels in a shroud and burying them. It was unsettling, but Cas felt like that was the point.

To the right of the building was a cleared away patch, the grass shaved down to nothing more than stubble. Various rusted surgical instruments poked out of the ground like broken bones with no organization or listing as to what was there. Something wasn’t right about that spot, like there was an invisible red tape marker warning him to never step foot there. 

Something about the entire place just felt… wrong. The same feeling you get when you know someone’s watching you but you can’t tell where from. When something keeps moving out of the corner of your eye, but you never turn around fast enough to see more than a blur. Icy fingers slid down his spine, chilling him to the core. It felt like he was on unconsecrated ground, the feeling you get in your gut looking at pictures of No Man’s Land. Something bad happened here, everything was pleading with him to run away and never look back. Just run into the forest until he collapsed; anything seemed better than staying near this place. 

But the other three fearlessly marched onward, gravel grinding into their boots. They seemed more relaxed being on the grounds, whereas he was tensed up and probably looked like a spooked dog. He had to mentally force his feet to move and follow them, promising that just after the next step he’d turn around and run away like a little child. The air had a strange scent to it, smoke and a foul sweetness. It struck a chord with Cas, he knew that sweet aspect. Gangrene, the flesh of a living being dying and rotting away. The tips of the wing tattoos on his back were green with it.

It was the smell of death, and Cas never knew just how much he’d missed it. 

He stopped for a minute and grinned, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. The smell reminded him of his old workshop, decaying wood mixed in with diseased rotted limbs. His workshop was more of a home than anywhere else he’d lived, but he knew it had been destroyed and carted off to museums or just burned. Lives had been taken here, the building radiated death. People had suffered a great deal before hand too, their agony’s leeching into the stone and branding it as a place that was best forgotten.

Feeling more relaxed now, Cas walked up to the door and spied a small copper plate embedded in the door. 

____ Hospital was given to the church of the ____ at the fall of the 19th century. Once a place for those ill in body, it was reformed into a place for those ill in mind. We will gladly work to provide the care of those whom God has created no matter the state. It is our duty, one we carry proudly.

Several of the words were grinded down and made illegible, something Cas supposed was done intentionally.   
Together, Charlie and the two men placed their hands on the door and pushed, grunting with the weight of it. It groaned loudly in protest unwilling to move at first, then dragging itself along the floor as a compromise. Cas’s breath hitched and the doors were opened and a gust of warm hit him, banishing the cold from his body and bringing color back to his face. 

The inside was mostly lit by grand chandeliers and small electrical lights fixed to the ceiling. A massive bronze staircase stood in the centre of the room, free of any dust or grime like one would expect from a seemingly abandoned building. It seemed so much bigger on the inside than it should have. From the inside, things didn’t look as bad as the exterior. Most of the floor was a strange mixture of stone and wood, stone replacing where the wood has failed to do it’s job. The walls were in more disrepair, holes punched into the plaster walls exposing the wood bones beneath. The ceiling was a giant mosaic, depicting the famous last supper painting. Some of the pieces were missing, including several eyes being etched out and lines drawn across necks. He had zero idea how they’d gotten up there since he had to strain his eyes to even see the ceiling. Identical wolf statues were perched on the banisters of the staircase, howling at a moon they couldn’t see. 

“I know, it’s a little weird seeing it the first time, but you’ll get used to it pretty quickly.”

Cas jumped when Charlie was suddenly standing behind him; he must have been gawking like a lunatic. 

“We’ve got to just go up the stairs and hang a right, Boss wanted you taken straight to him before you saw much of the House.”

“Wait,” interjected Cas, “House? People live in here? This is an old looney bin!”

Something dark flared in Charlie’s eyes, a mischevious smile played on her lips. “Oh of course stupid. Where else would we go? We’re not the only ones in here Cas, you’ll see. Try to keep your eyes forward, and don’t talk to anyone.”

She turned and headed up the stairs on silent cat feet, not making a sound against the bronze like she should have been. Uneasy, he followed her with an arms length of distance separating them. He caught his feet several times on the bolts in the stairway and stumbled up them, sounding like a bull rampaging through a china shop. 

At the top of the stairs was a crudely built rope bridge without a rail going to the left where the floor had fallen out many years ago. On the right was an open hallway with a ratty green carpet, it too lacked any sort of guardrail to stop a person walking too close to the edge from fall to their deaths. 

Thankfully, Charlie didn’t take the bridge route and continued to march down the hallway. It was pocketed by various rooms and Cas could hear laughter and murmuring behind several of the doors. It was too dark to really see much detail since the hallway didn’t even have any sort of light besides the windows, but the sun was still hiding behind the trees so it was hard to see. 

They came to what should have been the end of the hall, but the wall had been knocked down and a crooked staircase was built out of metal rods where the insulation should have been. Cas wasn’t one for closed spaces on his better days, but he had a twisting feeling in his gut that said if he tried to leave now he wouldn’t get out alive. 

Halfway up the stairs, another staircase spit off it and turned sharply up. His thighs were already starting to burn, but he just bit down on his tongue and continued up. It seemed every few steps another door or stairway had been carved into the walls, and endless maze of crude metal and plaster. Several of the steps had gaps between them, and the inner child in Cas was terrified something was going to reach out and snatch his ankle. 

They turned once more and Cas was greeted by blackened walkway, constructed only of a single plank of wood. There seemed to be only a bottomless pit beneath, with apparently nothing supporting the wood beam. Here Charlie stopped, and turned to face Cas. “You need to go across that, at the other end is a door. Boss is back there. I’ll be waiting again if you finish.”

“If?”

She winked and walked back down the stairs, not hiding her steps and loudly stomping the way down. 

He didn’t trust the wood at all, it looked ancient and that it would to powder if he put any kind of weight on it. He wasn’t a clumsy person by nature or anything, but he didn’t think he could walk across it safely without plunging to his death in that pit. It was a fate he’d like to avoid, so ignoring the hundreds of clips from B-Movie action scenes, he sat sideways on it and scooched him along the beam in by inch. It felt ridiculous, but Cas reasoned that his life was worth more than his dignity.

With his feet dangling over the edge, Cas could hear an all too familar voice in the corners of his mind. Go on, do it. Jump, go jump. 

“Sorry brain,” he whispered to no one, “not today. I didn’t get dragged out here and drugged to fall off this thing now.”

By the time he reach the other side, his heart was about to give out from stress, his fingers were riddled with splinters, and his mood had taken a turn for the worse. Rather than knocking like the good samaritan like he was, he just opened the door and stepped inside. 

It looked to be an office, done up in a fancy rustic style. The room didn’t have any windows, only small hanging lights from the ceiling. An unlit fireplace was in the corner with a ram skull perched on top. A massive desk was in the center, and a man was standing by a bookcase flipping through a dusty tome. 

“You know, nowadays it is common courtesy to knock before entering a room.”

The man turned to face Cas and his breath caught in this throat.

The first thing he noticed was the eyes. They were a dazzling green, commanding attention to the rest of him. His body looked solid, his shirt clung a little too tightly to his biceps for Cas’ comfort. He was without a doubt handsome, a rugged quality mixed in with a predatory aura. He radiated dominance, and Cas knew he was in no place to challenge him. As he put the book down and walked over, Cas noticed that he was very bow legged. “So this is Castiel huh? I’ll admit, I thought you’d be a little more intimidating.”

HIs voice was deep, and carried the faintest hints of an accent. He sounded like it was picked up from something, not the one he was born with. The smallest smattering of freckles was across his nose and cheeks, and he had a small scruff covering his cheeks. He was only a few inches taller than Cas, but somehow seemed to tower over him. The man extended a hand, which Cas took and immediately regretted the action. His grip was tight like a vice and Cas felt a few of the bones in his hand pop and the callouses on his fingers scratched at his skin. “My name’s Dean. Come sit, you’re here for a reason and my time’s valuable.”

“No last name?”

“To you, no.”

Cas sat down on a chair in front of the desk, but he didn’t. He kept walking around the room as he spoke, forcing Cas to strain his neck to keep looking at him. He didn’t want Dean out of his sight for very long, the man made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“If Charlie did her job right, you’ve got no idea what any of this is right? You don’t know where you are, what you’re doing, or even who I am, this all sounding correct?” He sounded amused.

“She didn’t say much, only that’d I’d be working for you doing something. What, am I going to be your personal landscaper?”

Dean chuckled, but it sounded dry and forced, “Why were you imprisoned Cas?”

“Because I brutally killed over a dozen people and had a lot of fun while doing it,” he deadpanned.

“You did it very well too. I’ve seen your work, not first hand of course, but I’ve seen pictures and articles about you. Very interesting designs, the wings, have to say that’s a first. Points for originality.”

Dean turned his back and stared at the mounted ram skull, hands folded behind his back, “Do you think you should have been imprisoned for what you did?”

What kind of question is that?

“Well,” said Cas carefully, “I like to think that I was doing something for those people. I mean they clearly weren’t doing anything with their lives. I’m not going to sit here and ramble to you about how I’m like, God’s gift to mankind or that I’m the saviour. I killed because I liked it and I didn’t see something wrong with it. Maybe I just have a fucked up moral compass, hey who knows, but personally I don’t think so. There’s a lot worse people out there, yet they throw me in jail.”

“Like honestly! There’s all kinds of disgusting people out there, rapists for example. They never get thrown in jail and I think what they do is disgusting. I cut people’s organs out and fed them to stray cats and I think they’re messed up. Do they get a lot of jail time? No, it’s insane! I turn people to works of art, and I get sentenced to die alone in a disgusting facility full of men who get off on people like me dying. Explain to me how that’s fair,” Cas felt his voice rising, and a flush in his cheeks, “we’re senselessly executed in hideous and degrading ways, but soldiers who murders hundreds are praised! And do-”

Dean perked up and turned his head, “Works of art? Care to elaborate?”

Cas stopped dead in his tracks, he shouldn’t have let that slip. “Well, I see it that way. Tattoo artists scar and punch holes in people for a living, and it’s called an art form. Torture, at least the way I do it, is just a slightly more extreme version of that. Death isn’t a pretty thing, but the acts leading up to that can be. I’m making these people into works of art right before the single biggest event of their life, when usually they’d look old and shriveled. Artists are always prosecuted when they create a new form, mines just not accepted yet.”

“That’s an interesting perspective Cas, but not as unique as you think.”

Dean was directly behind him, so he had to swivel in his chair and sit on his knees to keep eye contact with him. He was pouring himself a drink on a little cart in the back corner. “Want one?”

“No, I don’t drink.”

Dean shrugged and shoved the stopper back into the bottle. He drained half the glass in one sip and moved back over to the desk. “You’d be surprised just how many guys and girls there are like you in the world. People are into some weird shit, and they’re always shamed for it no matter what they do. It’s human nature to be skeptical of new things. We’re so protective of our own species that things that could potentially benefit us are deemed repulsive if they harm even a few people. Serial killers are a different breed than us though, they waste potential supplies. It’s like a painter dumping out his paints.”

He let himself fall into the chair on the other side of the table and propped his feet up on the desk, something that mildly annoyed Cas. “When you say us Dean, are you telling me that you’ve…”

“Killed people?” Dean finished for him, “Yes, a great deal but I’m not a fan of self promotion. We’re not here to talk about my conquests, this is all you.”

“Then tell me why I’m here. I’m a patient man Dean but I’m nearly done with all of this dodging around. Tell me why I’m here and what you wanted from me.”

“How much do you miss killing, Cas? I know you just put on that big show of art, and I respect that, but it’s the killing you really miss isn’t it?”

Blunt, but it was better than nothing, 

“More than anything else in the world. More than I miss my own mother.”

Dean swung his feet off the desk and leaned forward, “Bet that ever since you were taken in, you’ve never been able to really sleep. There’s always something that seems wrong when you can’t kill. For me it was this kind of… burn in my fingertips. Everything seems like slightly wrong, doesn’t it? You feel powerful when you kill, like nothing can stop you because you’ve just committed one of the worst crimes a human can, and you enjoyed it.”

Cas couldn’t help but lean into the conversation. He was hanging onto Dean’s every word since it struck a chord. Everything he was saying was right. 

“Cas, what would you do if I could give you that power back, without any of the hassle or worry of a usual kill? What would you say if I could give you all of that back?”

“I’d probably say you’re a delusional bastard with a god complex but judging by the fact you look completely serious I don’t think that’s the right response. How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

If Dean was annoyed, he was doing a very good job of covering it up. Cas wondered if anything could shake this guy. “How much does the general public know about what happens in a death house Cas? How many people actually see the prisoner executed and check for signs of life themselves? And how many people see the actual body other than the family?”

Dean was staring directly into Cas’ eyes, not break his gaze, “Think of how easy it would be to fake a death record, how simple it is to pay someone off to lie and say they’re dead?. Executions are expensive processes, a lot of officials are happy to have the paperwork cleared off their desks for good. I busted you out of a high security facility from across an ocean and all it took was a few dollars wired anonymously into someones account. Sometimes they just don’t want to see someone else die, even though they’re blindly causing the deaths of others, but beside my point.”

“Every single year, millions of people just go missing. They vanish, just like that. There’s no trace of them anywhere. Don’t you think that’s a little weird? I mean where the Hell are they going? Answer, some come here. There’s over eight billion people on the world, and a lot of people have enemies.”

“So what you’re going to train me to be a hitman? Am I going to shave my head and get a barcode tattoo?”

Groaning, Dean pulled back and rubbed one of his temples. “You’re really just not getting this. It’s a lot easier to hire people to do your dirty work, some people have serious beef with others. My name isn’t known so much in America, but here, my little company is a legend. If someone wants somebody dead, we pick them up, bring them here. I have an army of ex-death row inmates who are just dying to get their hands on some new meet. I offer them protection, and the ability to walk around a free man, if they join and let’s say, make some art.”

“We get to kill people,” queried Cas, eyes wide with disbelief “for a living? Is that what you’re telling me?”

The room felt stuffy and more than a little bit claustrophobic, but Dean’s smile cleared the air, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You won’t have total free reign, too many bodies does attract attention. Most of the time you’ll be given an assignment, a request given by the customer or a general guideline. If you feel like you’re getting rusty you’ll be allowed to request someone be brought in for you. However, there’s a rule. I can’t just let every nutjob who likes to cut people up in here. You need a certain something. I won’t freak you out just let, Charlie can explain.”

Standing back up, Dean moved over to Cas and looked down at him, eyes gleaming in the light. “Interested?”

Cas looked down at the hands in his lap. Everything felt too… surreal. How could someone actually be asking him this? It wasn’t just some elaborate joke, and he didn’t want it to be. “Yes.”

“Good, knew you would be.”

Moving back around to his desk, he sat down in his chair and moved his hand to the underside. A small click sounded and the bookcase slid over unveiling a door. Dean gave a small wave before picking up the book he’d been looking at before and paying no more attention to Cas. Still feeling a little shocked, he put his hands in the pockets of his pants to hide their shakiness and did his best to walk quietly out the door. Worried it was going to be just another plank of wood or a set of monkey bars he’d have to swing across, he slowly opened the door and poked his head out. It just looked like a normal hallway. 

Cas breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out. 

“Observing the lack of colour in your cheeks, I’m assuming everything went well with the head of state?”

Cas jumped when he heard Charlie’s chipper voice manifest beside him. “Y-yeah it went fine I guess. He mentioned you were going to explain something to me?”

She rolled her eyes, “Course he did, you know it wouldn’t hurt him to do some of the talking every now and again. He’s got a flair for the dramatics but I guess when you’re in this business you need it.”

“Come with me, I’ll lead you to the guest room and explain everything on the way.”  
-  
Walking through the halls brought him back to the first day he’d spent in jail but with less cat calling. It was the first time he’d seen anyone else inside, but it was an entire spectrum of people. Some were extremely obvious looking, greasy haired men with disgusting teeth who looked like they had a shrine to Charles Manson in their closets. Slender people with rat noses, punks who were coated in tattoos and piercings, some totally average people who didn’t look any different than someone you’d walk past in a grocery store. It was a rainbow of skin color, but he noticed a lack of women in this part of the building. It would make sense if the house was gender divided since inmates weren’t known for their outstanding citizenship, but Cas knew any woman here was the last person on earth he’d want to fuck with. A few faces looked familiar, ones he’d seen one newspapers and on red alert screens on tv.

Some eyed him silently as they wiped tools soaked in gore on stained aprons, but he felt a sense of pity in the stares. He felt like the ugly homeless cats you see in cities, too worm infested for anyone to care for but still cute enough you bent down to give it a small pat on the head before wiping your hand on your coat. Others payed no attention and chattered on, but still gave Charlie a wide berth as she strutted fearlessly down the halls with her head held high. Very little of the conversations were in english, but he picked up hints of everything from Polish to Mandarin to something that sounded like a form of Romani. Cas had known an inmate who was a linguistics professor that had taught him broken bits and pieces of every language he knew, just enough to identify and say a polite how do you do in each. 

The House wasn’t actually the hellhole it appeared to be from the inside, in fact it was rather pleasant. Several of the walls were hand painted with murals depicting everything from a celtic knot to a gallows, and some of the floor had been redone in tile where the rot had grown too extreme. If the floor still held it was draped in patterned rugs and stitched together chunks of old quilts to cover it. Bits and pieces of cultural art were hung on the walls from the farthest corners of the globe, western aboriginal artwork mixed with faded ink and wash painting that looked like they would fall apart form age. It was a patchwork from different walks of life held together in blood and sinew. Very slowly, it looked like it was being brought back from the dead. “You’ve been pretty quiet so far, this place does that to you. It’s got a mind of it’s own. The house guests often say that the ghosts of people who died in here still linger around. That they live in the walls and control us like we’re just puppets.”

“I was actually just wondering something. Are you the only girl in this place? This place is huge but I haven’t really seen any others.”

“Nope there’s a few others that at least I know personally, I know there’s a pair of twins from South Africa and a few scattered ones from all around the Middle East. Couple Americans and a Canadian, but the latter is pretty shy and doesn’t talk to people much. Which is fine by me, she was a cannibal who used to half drown her victims before cutting out their tongues and frying them up. Funny enough she’s usually on kitchen duty. There’s a girl from Austria here and wow, her tool of choice was sharpened piano wire, but other than that it’s pretty male dominated in here. I mean some 99% of death row inmates are male, least in the States they are. I assume I’d know more about that than you anyway considering you’re not exactly a pure-blooded Yankee. Russia?”

Cas nodded, surprised she’d been able to guess, “Moved over when I was about ten, Dad tried to beat the accent out of my brothers and I, worked for two and it just made the other three try harder.”

“Ah well,” said Charlie, turning her head so she could look at him and adding a thick false accent to her words, “Welcome to the House comrade!”

“Not quite a member yet. What even do I have to do?”

She waved it off, “Please you’ll do fine. It’s got a few layers to it though, it’s a long process. First thing they’re going to do is plop you in a room with someone. They’ll be all laid out for you and you can use any tool you want. They’ll have shelves decorated with everything from paperclips to pistols. Remember flashy isn’t always effective, try to stay away from the heavy firepower.”

Charlie turned a sharp right and started heading down a creaky staircase that sunk with their weight, “Make them up how ever you want, remember you’ve got to stand out. Fun fact about the Fearless Leader, he was in a drug gang, aka he’s seen some nasty shit and it’s going to take a lot to phase him, so don’t hold back. Keep them alive for as long as you can, cutting up a corpse gets you no points.”

A lanky man in a surgical mask who reeked of piss walked by and waved pleasantly, humming a tune while he wiped a streak of blood off his forehead. Cas got the feeling that was going to be a common occurrence. 

“If by chance you pass they’ll take you to a room. Dean will be there along with his top of the line. He’s going to pull out your wisdom teeth and yank the nails out of your pinky fingers. If you can make it through that without flinching, he’s going to carve the mark of the House by your hipbone. You’re lucky, it used to be a brand on the wrist but too many of the scars wound up getting messed up. Lucky me I was the last one they did it to before they realized it was seriously messing up some people’s tendons. And the infections, wow they stunk. That’s pretty much it, if you can do all of that without showing signs of pain then you’re good to go! You’ll move into the dorms and start living like the rest of us.”

“He’s going to rip out my teeth?”

Charlie made an exasperated noise, “Yes Cas he’s going to rip out your teeth. Members need to be able to withstand pain incase someone breaks free and attacks them. Weakness isn’t tolerated, you show any sign, you’ll have your legs amputated and they’ll chuck you in the river behind the House.”

He gagged, “That’s a little extreme don’t you think?”

“No, it’s necessary.”

Dead eyed, Charlie stopped in her tracks and pointed to the door on her right. “That’s your room. There’s clothes you can change into and a bed if you want to get some sleep beforehand. I don’t know how long they’ll wait, but I suggest you start planning what you’re going to do so you’re not stuck improving everything. Good luck Cas.”

With that, she turned around and went the way they’d came.   
~

Without question, he’d never been more nervous in his entire life. Murder was something he’d kept hidden away knowing everything he’d do would shock the masses. If all of those members he’d passed had passed the same test he was going to have to, he’d really have to pull something special out. Using his usual dismemberment and carvings wouldn’t strike the right chords, he’d need to do something new. 

After he’d changed into the jeans and t-shirt they’d left for him, he sprawled out on the bed trying to decide what to do. He’d need a different plan if it was a man or a woman, and any tools he had would influence his decisions, too. It was so much easier to just go with your gut, but Cas’s life had never depended on his ability to mame. Just saying “fuck it” could either be his life saver or the rock tied around his ankle dragging him to the bottom of the river. 

Except I won’t even have ankles anymore

A small window at the very top of the room let in a few slivers of light that Cas hadn’t realized were beginning to fade. It must have been sunset by the time his door creaked open and Dean was standing in the doorway. Before he’d even said anything, Cas stood up and walked over, obediently following the man who’d decide if he live to see the next sunrise.  
~  
The basement was a sheer contrast to the rest of the house. Dank, cold, and completely devoid of the morbid cheer the upstairs had. It was all concrete with leaky pipes running along the walls and ceiling which were responsible for the plink noises that echoed after their footsteps. Dean’s face was a mask, wiped clean of any emotions as he walked down the hallway. Every now and then, Cas would hear a scream coming from behind the massive steel reinforced doors every few meters and tried to not break into a grin. He missed them so much.

His room was at the very end of the hallway. Dean took the courtesy to open the door for him, and close it the second he was in the room. A loud thunk of a lock turning sounded from the door, of course he was locked in. Why the hell wouldn’t he be?

The room felt like a meat locker so much so that he was surprised his breath didn’t hang in the air. It pierced right through his thin shirt but he stood tall and tried not to shiver.

Smart, cold constricts blood vessels so they won’t bleed as heavily

There was a wrap around counter absolutely covered in various instruments. An entire section was devoted entirely to surgical supplies, some surfaces had power tools with everything from a saw to a car battery and electrodes. Wrenches, hammers, nails, hypodermic needles labeled with an array of acids were hung up on a wall. Most were shining from being polished, others were so rusted they’d break if dropped. A small forge with a roaring fire burned in the corner with several pokers and rods turning white hot from the exposure. The floor sloped slightly down to a drain off the center, and beside was a large stone slab. It looked like something you’d see in the old Conquistador movies; the places where the Aztecs would cut out the hearts of their sacrifices before kicking the head down the stairs. 

But it wasn’t barren. A young girl who couldn’t have been over seventeen was sprawled out on the table in a flannel shirt and jeans. She was short and dark skinned with badly bleached hair chalk full of pink streaks, the faintest traces of makeup were left on her face, the rest was running down her face as she was crying hysterically. There was a ball-gag in her mouth, but she was somehow still managing to be obnoxiously loud. He’d always hated screamers.

Instinct kicked in, and Cas let a smile slip onto his face. He slowed his walk and approached the girl. The second he entered her field of vision, she went nuts. She thrashed against the restraints like an animal, howling against the gag and smacking her head on the slab. Young people, especially girls, were the easiest to get riled up. They’d always start freaking out and hurting themselves in an effort to escape rather than even trying to stay calm. One of his victims had broken her own wrist to try get out of a cuff. He had no idea why she thought snapping her wrist would help, but it had been really funny to watch. 

Deciding it would be more interesting if she could talk, he stepped over and slipped the gag off her mouth. Instantly she began to wail, howling at him to let her go and that she’d never done anything wrong. He just sat and stared at her, cocking his head slightly while waiting for her to wear herself out. Once her nerves were shot, it’d be easier to play around. 

It only took a few minutes before she’d resolved herself to quiet sobs and occasionally pulling at the leather strap across her wrist. Making a big show of getting up and stretching, he knelt down so he was at eye level with her. She looked disgusting, snot dribbling down her face and eyes puffy and swollen. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“W-what?”

She’s American, northern, too. Tourist?

“Your name kiddo, you’ve got a name don’t you?”

“Ann-Marie.”

“Ann-Marie. Okay, Ann-Marie, here’s what’s going to go down. Now unfortunately, I can’t let you go. Won’t look very good on my resume you see. In fact, this is going to take awhile if I can help it. Please try not to freak out too badly okay? Everything echos in here and you’ve already given me a killer headache.”

Aaannddd cue the sobbing again! God doesn’t she ever shut up? Even made a pun for her.

The first thing he needed was scissors. They were pretty rubbish when it came to actually messing people up, but it was hard to practise his art with clothes in the way. 

He found them on a ring screwed into the wall and retrieved them, rubbing the blade against his thumb to make sure they were sharp enough. Starting at the sleeve Cas began cutting away the flannel, making sure to let the blades just scrape the skin enough to tug at it. When he got to the elbow of the shirt, he just tore it the rest of the way up. She was still crying and trying to pull away. 

Well, pretty young girl in a basement alone cutting off her shirt, it’s a logical connection

However there was something there that he wasn’t expecting to see, that quite frankly shocked him. The girl’s boney arms were coated in an array of scars. Some were thin as paper, some had been so deep the scar tissue rose above the original wound, others were permanent trenches. It looked like a weird form of braille in slash marks. This couldn’t have been done by someone else. 

“Oh Ann-Marie, dear me,” tutted Cas, picking up her arm and tracing a finger over the scars, “what have you done to yourself?”

The girl had stopped sobbing for a minute, now looking more ashamed than scared that someone had seen what she’d done. However she made no move to pull her arm away or struggle at all. 

After cutting away her shirt completely he saw her entire torso was riddled with the scars. They began to criss-cross when she’d run out of room to make new ones; little x’s marking spots like a treasure map of self hatred. He stood back, absolutely and completely disgusted by what he saw. Cas had dealt with a lot in his life but he could never imagine destroying himself like that. He liked pain sure, but ruining a healthy body in such a disgusting way made him sick.

“Why’d you do this?”

The girl remained quiet, so he grabbed her face with his hands and glared down at her, “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

“Things just got too hard. I didn’t know what else to do. It was supposed to just be a one night thing but I couldn’t stop and I didn’t want to. It just helped.”

“Well apparently not since you kept doing it,” he scolded like a father disappointed in his child for sneaking out, “this is horrible. How can you go through life knowing you’ve messed yourself up this badly. Honestly child. What were you ever supposed to tell your kids?”

An idea suddenly crept it’s way into the back of his skull, one that made him chuckle and drop her arm back to the table with a thud. Slinking back to the counter Cas looked for a knife; it had to be small enough to match even the paper thin markings on her skin. The perfect one looked to actually be a throwing knife, but it would work for his special case.

“Ann-Marie there’s only one kind of person who hurts themselves on purpose and they are what we call masochists. Now I’m a masochist myself, but this is a little too extreme for me, which is quite the feat I will admit. However you clearly enjoyed doing this to yourself, but I’m going to spare you the trouble and help you out here okay?”

He pressed down the tip of the knife into a particularly nasty scar until it punctured the flesh and a small ribbon of blood started flowing from the wound. Cas dragged the knife along the scar, tracing the lines already made out for him. The first time it wasn’t deep enough to match the original scar, so he just sawed the knife through until he felt the scar tissue was no longer in his way. Once the first was done, he continued in a straight line to the next one, adjusting the pressure to how bad the existing scar already was.

Ann did a surprisingly good job of keeping her mouth shut for the first while, but when he passed her elbow she couldn’t help but let out a yelp. “I’m surprised you can even feel pain kiddo, your nerves must be absolutely shredded. You’re more scar tissue than skin from the waist up at this point.”

She’d begun to start to start trying to tear herself away from his knife, so Cas had to press down on her shoulders so ensure she didn’t mess up his lines. It was rather surprising to Cas how shaky his hands actually were from lack of proper use. The only knife he’d held after he’d been caught was a plastic butter knife that couldn’t do anything for anyone. Seeing the blood begin to seep through the cuts on her skin and pool around her was soothing. 

In the middle of connecting the lines from one arm to the stomach, he caught himself singing a song. It was one of the lullabies his mom used to sing to him to help him remember his language. An eerie little song, it took him till much older to realize what she was actually singing to him. He never bothered to look it up and see if it was an actual song or just one made up, but he’d never taken the time to translate it and learn how it sounded in english. 

“Закрой глаза скорее, Кто-то ходит за окном.”

Singing the old song helped to still his hands even more but in turn made Ann-Marie even more frantic. He frowned, the thrashing was tearing open some of the more vital cuts and causing her to bleed more. Connecting all the cuts was a fun process but it was making her bleed too much and he didn’t have any sort of cloth to use as a tourniquet or something else to staunch it. 

Maybe it’d be easier to think if she’d be quiet....

The ball gag wouldn’t do since she just kind of drooled around it, and seeing such a young girl connected with such a sexual object was something he didn’t want. Cutting out her tongue would cause way too much bleeding, but there was something else he could do. 

Fishhooks were the only kind of needle he could tie a thread to in the room but there wasn’t any sort of chord laying around that wasn’t attached to a garrote. Cas decided on the remains of her flannel which he tore into thin strips and tied around the hook. 

Beginning with the corner of her mouth Cas carefully stabbed the hook through, sticking his tongue out in response to the wet popping sound that resulted from it. Gripping her hair, Cas struggled to hold her still and she managed to gouge her chin on the hook while flailing around like a caught fish.

After pressing down on her forehead to pin her to the table he managed to hook it through the bottom lip and quickly yank them closed. The corner of her mouth was now sealed shut and it was easier to continue now that he’d started. Within minutes Ann-Marie’s jaw clamped shut for good and silenced anymore noise she’d made. He breathed a sigh of relief, happy to now be able to finish his work in peace.

Her eyes were still a problem, staring up at him wild-eyed and full of tears. 

Speak no evil, see no evil

A pair of heavy duty gloves were hanging by the forge so you could carry it around without blackening your hands. The heat was still uncomfortable, but it was something he’d rather put up with than having Ann-Marie relentlessly staring at him. Her body completely tensed when she saw the white tip of the metal bar, beaten into a point by a previous metal worker and now only inches above her left eye. Skin around the eye had already turned a bright red and the eye was drying out. He slowly lowered the bar until it gently tapped the eye without the required pressure to fully rupture it. The girl went baslistic, trying to push herself away but only cracking her head loudly on the stone and opening a wound on her scalp. Grunting with frustration, Cas slammed the bar down and punctured the eye. It made a strange wet sizzle, like when you throw raw meat in a hot pan. Ocular fluid drained out of deflated eye and down her cheek. He twisted the bar around scorching the entire socket, stirring the mix around and cooking the remains in the socket. 

He repeated the process with the other eye which was much easier since she was almost passed out from the pain, and he had to admit the result was rather eerie. She was incapable of making a sound or crying, so she looked like a doll being thrown around by an angry toddler. By this point, she’d lost so much energy and blood she could barely move. Cas didn’t feel pity, but this girl was getting boring and he was worried the judges would disapprove. He needed one last thing to wow them, and he had the perfect trick up his sleeve. 

Snatching a much larger knife off the table, held it at the girls throat and in one quick slice cut open a wide smile in her neck. Blood spewed out and rained over Cas, dying his shirt red and making the air reek of copper. Ann’s eyes rolled back in her head as she jerked around like she was being electrocuted. Watching someone die is an oddly calming experience since no matter what had just happened to you, the person being burnt to death you’re viewing could very well be you. Your head could be the one being smashed in, or your heart being torn out; you quickly learn to value little things after seeing a life taken. Viewing from behind a scream allowed the certain level of dissociation required to stop one from going mad. People often underestimate the brain’s power to convince us of anything. Even though there was absolutely no way what you were viewing could be special effects or editing, you can convince yourself otherwise and allow the last lights flickering out in someone’s eyes to dim your own worries for a moment. Seeing such a finality up close often silenced the most loud mouthed critic, but it blew away the haze in Cas’s brain and removed a weight from his chest. He was an addict, but one content to let his drug of choice eat away at him.

Without waiting for the spray to stop completely, he dug his hand around the wound. During the process he managed to tear open more veins which jetted blood in random arcs over the room. It struck him in the eye after a time and he saw everything in a haze of red in the left eye. He didn’t know exactly where to search to get what he needed so by the time he managed to find the tongue, the wound had gone stone cold. Fisting someone’s throat wasn’t what you could call a pleasant experience, it was the more the exact polar opposite. Flesh encased his forearm and squeezed it, a feeling he likened to being eaten by a snake. Digging his nails into the slimy bit of flesh, he wrestled down the throat and through the opening he’d made and expanded by sticking his arm through it. 

Colombian neckties were nasty pieces of work but that’s why they were so popular. The nastier and more violent an act was the more people there were denying their fascination with it. It was an interesting cycle of self denial to watch. 

Blood that had sprayed from her throat coated him completely from head to toe in a sticky sheen of red, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. It looked like a small child had drawn all over her with a red crayon. 

Euphoria. Pure euphoria filled Cas’ veins, a fire he’d missed so dearly. It danced inside him, overtaking anything else he tried to suppress it with. A tune had begun playing in Cas’ head, a simple waltz he’d been forced to learn in highschool. Humming along with the melody, he began to dance around the room alone with his arms up like he had someone to hold. He didn’t remember the exact steps since he’d barely paid attention to the class, so he improvised inserting various twists and box steps where they probably didn’t belong. Dancing was something he’d loved since he was a kid but it wasn’t an approved activity for inmates so while caged he was denied. 

His wings had been clipped for so long but with the blood on his hands Cas felt free again. Even if what he’d done didn’t impress the judges enough to allow him life he’d have to remember to thank Dean for allowing this small amount of freedom. 

The door swung open. Cas gracefully turned on his heel but was disappointed when he saw that it wasn’t Dean at the door, rather a tall skinny man with a graying beard. His voice was nasaly and unpleasant to listen to. It reminded him of dying insects. 

“Congrats Cassy, you get to come with me now. No you don’t have the option, don’t bother asking.”

He crooked his finger at Cas gesturing for him to follow, with a smile on his face that looked downright vile. Not wanting to upset this man and be thrown on the table himself, he obeyed and was taken to another room just opposite his own. It was much the same, just better lit and much warmer. This one had many more occupants than the last, six in total after he entered. Dean and Charlie were there, but the two other men he’d never seen before even on the news. A smaller man with a goatee and a smug look, the other a much smaller and less impressive man that didn’t really shine against the others. Rather than a slab a large St. Andrews cross had been crudely erected in the room, complete with steel chains and straps to pin him down. 

“Welcome Cas,” said Dean coldly, his voice was a void with no trace of anything left in it, “Kudos, you made it. Now take off your shirt and walk over to the cross please.”

What kind of torture is this place exactly?

Trying to still his shaky hands, he undid the buttons on his shirt and tried not to slouch over. Everyone in the room seemed unimpressed, but the look Dean was giving him was almost feral and Cas only prayed they weren’t going to make him take his pants off. 

The man with the goatee and the skinny one who’d led him there hoisted him up on the cross and bound him to it. His heart was racing with fear and he was sweating like a pig. Charlie pressed a pair of nasty looking pliers into Dean’s hand and stepped back out of his way.

“Remember Cas, no signs of pain. No wincing, no crying, nothing. Your face has to remain as still as possible. If my jury see any signs, even the smallest one, of pain you’ll be disqualified instantly and I’ll be forced to deal with you personally. Understand?”

Exhaling, he nodded slowly, trying to calm himself down. He’d had a tooth pulled before and it hadn’t been that bad; luckily he only had two of his wisdom teeth so he shouldn’t have it too rough on that department. As for carving, he’d had enough tattoo sessions and he figured it couldn’t be that much different really. It’s just a scar without the ink, and probably a lot more blood this time around. If anything the fingernails would give him Hell; Cas got uncomfortable when his nails were cut too far down and having them ripped out wasn’t going to be something he’d enjoy. 

Dean was being delibriately slow trying to rial Cas up. The more adrenaline he was on, the less pain he’d feel but he’d be a lot more twitchy and prone to pulling away which was something he really didn’t want to happen. Sure he’d take being thrown in a river to prison, but it was still preferable to not have either on the table. 

Dean pinched Cas’ jaw with his fingers and moved his head aside. One of the men shone a light into his mouth and waved it around until they spotted the teeth. The pilers were much too big to fit comfortably in his mouth and stretched his cheeks out. He could feel the grooves of the pilers clamp around the tooth, wriggling their way down to the base so it’d be easier to tear out. 

Cas braced himself, digging his nails into the wood of the cross and took a deep breath. 

Pop

The tooth was removed from its socket with a nasty, wet popping noise. A small strip of his gums had been stuck underneath the pilers and was torn off along side it. Cas tensed all the muscles in his body trying to remain still in his bindings and smothered a yelp rising in his throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ!

The pain was intense and sharp, like someone had just stuck a hot iron in his mouth and stabbed his tongue. He was breathing hard, trying to force the pain out of his mouth with the breaths. Blood oozed out of the empty socket, dripping out of his mouth and onto his chest. The place where the gums had been removed ached horribly. Dean barely gave him a moment to recover before the other had been yanked out and dropped to the floor.

The second tooth tore air from his chest, catching it and stopping it cold. But Cas kept his eyes forward and mouth firmly closed. His mind was screaming at him that it needed some form of release; it felt like it was going to burst from bottling the pain up. 

Make one fucking move you’re dead. Don’t you dare move. Don’t you dare 

“How you feeling Cas?” asked Dean in a patronizing voice.

Cas spit the blood from his mouth on the ground and looked over, but stayed silent. It came across as a sign of tolerance, but in actuality if Cas tried to speak his voice would have cracked and it would have been over. His front teeth were firmly planted into his tongue to keep his mouth shut, so he nodded instead. 

“Tough little guy aren’t you?”

Cas grunted and shifted his position a little, shaking the tenseness out of his muscles and focussing on controlling the pain in his jaw. 

“Well, this is the easier part.”  
The same pliers were now trained on his fingers, clamped down tight on the nail. Dean wasn’t the only one this time however, the skinnier man had a matching pair that was on his other hand. 

They’re doing two at once?! That hardly seems fair…

After sharing a look the two men began to slowly pull back, separating the nail from the flesh of his hand. He could feel every small tear as the nail was pulled from the bed. The building off the pain was worse than the teeth; at least with those it’d been over quickly. Cas chomped down on his cheeks to keep a straight face. 

Why couldn’t I have been one of the extreme masochists?

The nail beds of Cas’ hands were now bare in two spots. The air seemed to help ease the pain a little bit but still Cas wanted to curl into a ball and scream. His nerves were so overstimulated and his brain was crying out for some form of release. Pain was turning to poison in his guts and it felt like he was about to explode. His mouth hurt from gnashing the teeth together to surpress the screams. Even his eyes hurt from trying not to blink. 

“Very well done Cas! We’ve got one last thing to do, and then we’ll be over and done with one way or another.”

Dean just stuck his hand out, palm flat. The lankier man placed a small serrated scalpel into it and Cas watched in obvious horror as Dean’s fingers curled expertly around it. Shoeing the others to the back of the room, he dropped to his knees and tapped the edge of the tiny blade against his lips. He raised his other hand and gently grabbed hold of Cas’ hip and rested his hand there; the skin seemed to catch fire under his hand. Using two fingers to hold the skin taut and tightening the other two against Cas’ hipbone, almost delicately Dean pressed the blade into his skin. 

The teeth on the blade seemed to catch and tear the skin away as the small lines were drawn into his skin with painstaking detail. Cas could feel Dean’s breath, uncomfortably warm against his stomach. Cas was trying not to blush more than anything now, his panic at completely humiliating himself in front of these people momentarily overtaking the pain that had only seconds before wracked his body. 

Dead nuns, dead nuns Cas

The closer Dean got to his hip the tighter his face screwed up. It was one of the most painful places to be tattooed and Cas remembered when he’d gotten the script on on his stomach. The pain was similar but this was a lot more rough. Every now and then he swore Dean would scrape the bone with his blade on purpose to make him uncomfortable. It hurt sure, but the sound was like dragging a rock against a piece of sandpaper.   
Cas swore he was going to have bruises on his hips from Dean’s hands, which wasn’t something entirely horrible but he’d rather have gotten them under different circumstances. 

“Alright Cas, you’re done.”

Dean wiped blood away from the wound with his thumb and rubbed it on his forefinger. Gently, he placed the bloodied tip under Cas’ eye and drew a line under each. He smiled and looked up at his handy work, some wolfish grin on his face that made Cas shiver. Dean stood and did a small bow at the waist to Cas, not breaking eye contact.

“Congratulations brother. You held on and passed your individual exam perfectly, beautiful work really. As a result, I accept you and look forward to seeing your future endeavors come to light. Welcome to the House of the Rising Sun, Castiel.”

His tone was light but not entirely sincere. Dropping the smile he turned and left the room, leaving Cas on the cross in a room of strangers. The shorter man with the goatee walked over and undid the straps on his arm.

“Welcome to Hell,” he whispered.  
~  
The idea of six months passing surprised Cas, it seemed like he’d barely been there for a week.

His first few days had been a mix of rules being burrowed into his head, there was a lot and everyone had to follow them. The “Houseguests” (Dean’s affectionate nickname for them) were under constant law and if they broke any of the rules there was a severe punishment in order. Rules and updates were tacked on the doors and cork boards nailed into the old building wherever there was space available on yellowed paper. 

Do not take more “clients” than what has been provided for you  
Do not mess around with someone else’s “client”, it is theirs to deal with and amputation by hatchet is the treatment for repeat offenders.   
Once you are in, there is no leaving. Those to try to leave the society have their hands, feet, and tongues removed and are thrown into the river  
Cannibalism while not illegal is frowned upon. If you wish to participate, prepare your own food.  
No more than two “clients” at once (this rule null if there is multiple acts going on at once or you have been assigned a family)  
The Head’s word is law  
Only those who have been found by the talent scouts may be initiated, any wayward travelers whom have seeked it out will be dealt with accordingly. If you feel you know someone who might prove worthy, talk to Chuck.   
Never interrupt someone’s sessions  
DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES PROVOKE THE GUARD DOGS  
Traitors are to be dealt with immediately  
If you live outside the House you are to only enter during the curfew hours  
Curfew is 11pm, NO EXCEPTIONS. Any who do not have their quarry back into the main building by that time are to be locked out.  
Trips but be approved by both the Head and Charlie, they cannot overturn one another.

 

“Guard dogs” was a reference to the wolf pack Dean had trained that lived around the House. He’d taken to feeding them scraps of the “clients” the House took in, so they scared off most people who got to close to it. A long time ago some idiot had decided it would be a good idea to try play with one and wound up getting his head delivered to Dean’s door. 

Cas had met Chuck on his second week in the House, and besides Charlie he was really the only person Cas considered a friend. He was a short, scruffy man who was in charge of doing supply runs for the House. He was usually never around; instead in the surrounding cities shipping the massive amounts of food required to feed the Houseguests and various supplies needed to their door. If you wanted something special for a job or just something to decorate your room with, you talked to him and he’d see if he could get it for you. The members could leave the House on very special occasions, but most prefered Chuck to do it. Cas had known guys like him in prison, the ones who knew all the secret tunnels under the place and could barter better than any tramp on a street corner. He never talked much and was usually mumbling to himself, scribbling down orders into the clipboard glued to his hands or fiddling with a cap from a whiskey bottle. 

Chuck was part of the House minority. Some people there had never actually killed someone or even been in jail, they were just strange people who either Dean knew previous or who’d stumbled upon the House and there was no need to kick them out. Most of the people who did the cooking weren’t hardcore serial killers either, and people in charge of the incinerators and maintenance in the basement were usually just ex-smugglers or old junkies that had gotten clean. Dean had just stumbled on Chuck by luck one day in a small Missouri town; he’d seen him sitting alone drinking coffee with shaky hands in the corner of a smoky bar and offered to play him a round of cards. To this day Chuck was the only one Dean couldn’t beat even when he’d start slipping aces up his sleeve, which Cas suspected was one of the reasons he’d kept him around. 

They’d eat together in their off time and talked about the dynamics of the House and it’s social life. Everyone tried to be on Chuck’s good side and he’d just smile and nod his way through most conversations. People would dig up dirt on others and share it with him so Chuck knew more about some people than their own mothers. It was low and gossipy, but it was nice to have something kind of normal. It was like a messed up highschool. 

There were a few people that really got under Cas’ skin. Crowley and Alastair were some of the worst. He’d found out they were the others at his initation, and they radiated an aura of sick freak. From what he’d heard, they were the unofficial kings of the House next to Dean and no one really messed with them. Chuck said they were straight up assholes. 

And Charlie, as it turned out, had her own extremely important role in the House. She ran the “Talent Scouts” and organized extraction missions like his own whenever Dean gave the approval to bring a new man in. She took care of her own assignments, but Dean always called her the brains of the operations rather than the bronze. She actually ran a small gym in the back of the House, which trained in mostly take downs and how to knock someone out quietly if needed. 

Cas learned very quickly that everyone had their place in the House and everyone had their own little jobs you didn’t mess with. You didn’t do something unless it was asked of you, even holding the door open made some people nervous. It was better to be presumed rude than have someone who slit throats for a living think you were insulting them. 

Dean was no exception to that and apparently it was a rarity to see him come down from his office unless a special guest required his attendance. It was either that or he was out at a bar or wandering around in the forest where no one was to disturb him. After speaking with him a few times, Cas decided he liked Dean. He had a different perspective than the majority of the people there since he’d been around a bit. Dean seemed to like him too, but he was a lot less subtle about it which Cas suspected was on purpose. Dean’s eyes could see right through him and they had the irritating ability to make him blush whenever he was caught in their gaze. Cas certainly wasn’t going to be the first to make a move in case he was misreading everything. His paranoia was, in his mind, totally justified. While he doubted that Dean didn’t know about his (as his father had put it) “sexual deviance”, he didn’t want to deal with the humiliation of possibly hopelessly flirting with the man who controlled his entire life.

People talked anyway, and Chuck knew about how apparently Cas was lusting after their keeper before he did. 

Cas assigned himself to be content with a shaky friendship with Dean, even though anytime he touched Cas he felt sparks dance under his skin. He desperately wanted his approval, for Dean to look at his works with admiration and to look at Cas with something more than what Cas interpreted as just desire. But Dean was always busy and there seemed to be nothing to build a foundation for romance on. He hated it.

Just like highschool

But the actual House itself was an interesting thing. Because it had been an old hospital staff had needed ways to move around the more unstable patients, so passageways ran throughout the entire building. Many of the interior walls had rotten or collapsed, so their wreckage was used to create new walkways and planks to get around on. While the outside was perfectly fine, the inside had been torn down and restitched many times. It was a maze behind the walls, a wooden maze filled with false stops and sharp corners. Some spots didn’t even have walls, just pipes and fiberglass. The boards would span out over dark pits that seemed to never end, but he’d watch in amazement as the experienced members hopped and skipped over them easily. They made Cas uncomfortable. Even the smallest noises would echo off the wood and it was so easy to get lost on the beams. 

“Sky Walkers” were Houseguests who knew every single passage and would pass along messages and various things via the tunnels in the walls. There seemed something so strange about them. They were usually in some sort of dazed state and would hum randomly as they walked across the beams on tip toes. Nobody said anything to them and you didn’t walk on the rails in from of them; if you heard the beams creaking behind you then you prayed to God they were kind enough to snap your neck first. If you were lucky you could hide, but there hadn’t been an incident with them in years and people just avoided them. Many were actually blinded and some of the guests swore that they’d been lobotomized using the icepicks in the kitchen. Cas personally thought it was a crock of shit, but so many of the guests were adamant that they were he just kept it to himself. 

He only asked Dean about it once, and his only answer was “Fuckin’ junkies.”

And it wasn’t murder every day like he’d been expecting. 

Chuck brought in a regular supply of people, but always less than the population in the House. If you wanted one, you either brought in your own or put your name down on the sign-up sheets that littered the courtyard of the House. If you were really lucky and got there early, you could even pay and have a small amount of requirements for your person. Locals, drifters, and the elderly were the usual you’d sign up for, but for upwards of twenty grand you could have someone specially shipped in for you from any part of the world. The biggest was Asia and parts of South America, with some of the people selling for twenty five grand a pop. Auctions could even take place when a picture was provided by one of Chuck’s men. He’d seen a young girl from Tanzania go for forty thousand and a Brazilian man go for about half as much. It was madness, but the people liked what they liked. 

Money was a tricky issue. Many people had jobs outside the House that they’d earn money from, usually in the village that stood in front of it. Cas had only been there a few times since the entire place just set his teeth on edge. It was so isolated that many of the people never even left the property line of it. Dean had taken him there in his first few days to see if there was a job that interested him so he could splurge on some newer clothes or books. It was near impossible for Cas since the language was some mutilated local dialect that sounded like someone had thrown Latin, Norwegian, and Dutch into a bowl and threw together some of the words to create an angry yet beautiful jumble. But the village played a very important role; they didn’t like outsiders so anyone who tried to visit the town that pissed them off they’d deliver to the House. 

If being a baker wasn’t your style and you weren’t interested in pocket change, Dean could help you out with that. Every so often one of his old friends would mosey on into the building and set out a task for him and his merry men to do for them. They paid beautifully and were very specific on what they wanted; a simple assassination usually paid around ten grand but some would even pay an extra hundred for every bone broken and a thousand for punctured lungs or flailed rib cages. Cas found no pleasure in being a hired gun, so he stuck to his little dank dungeon and spent his days dismembering the few people that were left over from the biddings when no one really wanted them. 

He’d never been bothered by who he was cutting open so long as they didn’t try to scream his ears off. It meant that he was never really busy doing much since people were so eager to scoop up even the most crippled and mentally broken that he was never left with someone to practice on or do much of anything with. His art was very organic and he never tried to force it and it seemed like now since he could do it whenever he wanted to his muse had all but left him. 

There were ways for people to find out about the place if they had no prior connection to Dean. A small group headed by a woman named Ruby travelled around the world and got the word out. Slipping notes into the right people’s pockets, scribbling digits for a phone number that was changed every other day, whispering in the backs of bars, random people in the bowels of the internet chatboards, they kept it low. It was nothing more than a rumor, but rumors had great power. Cas knew that much at least. They hung around on trains and in house shows, breathing life into the myths that surrounded the place to keep a steady line of people requesting their service. Cas didn’t have the silver tongue or the quick hands required, but it was a hard life and they usually were travelling by foot so he figured he wasn’t missing much.   
You could assign yourself to the scouts team and earn your keep that way, help Chuck out, or do various repairs and chores around the House when you weren’t slaughtering hitchhikers or tramps. There was always something to do if you really wanted a job and you were always expected to be doing something unless it was a day off for you. The House was broken down into hallways, twice a week a few of the halls would all be on break together where they could do whatever they wished with the days.

Instead his were spent out in the woods exploring or in the courtyard reading ancient anatomy books and ignoring the groans coming from the downstairs vents while trying to coax his muse back from whatever Hell it had gone off too. It was a nice little area, with a fishnet style pattern of planks on top for the Walkers to jog along. Houseguests were often tied up in their work in the middle of the day he never had any interruptions other than the slow creaking of wood under light feet. 

On a particular evening, he’d been lazily flipping through some boring trial-by-fire style novel and listening to the bees droning in the flowers which popped up around the benches. He was bored out of his mind, but it was better than being in jail afterall.   
He’d just gotten to a part where a grand fire had destroyed most of the main characters evidence, when he heard the trademark squeaking of the boards above his head. He looked up and saw a Walker dangling from her feet off the board, staring blankly at him. Her shirt had slipped and was exposing her midriff and part of her breasts, but she just swayed slightly with her painted fingers clawing weakly at the air. There was no one else in the yard so he set the book down and slowly walked over, keeping his eyes focussed on hers. 

Cas’d seen her dancing over the beams before, she would have been extremely pretty if not for the raised scar that crossed over her cheeks and the way her mouth always slightly hung open. She had a design painted on her stomach in greasepaint which wasn’t an unusual thing for the Walkers to have. He stood a small ways back from her and squared his shoulders back.

“Can I help you?”

“You have a message,” she sang, her head rolling side to side as her eyes widened and fixed on him, “The boss wants to see his little bird with the clipped wings and I was assuming it was you.”

Cas recoiled at the sound of her voice. She had an accent that sounded like danish, but it was devoid of any real emotion like someone had pulled the string on a doll. “Where is he and how urgent is it?”

“Where the boss always is little crippled bird, in his own little tinder nest. He seemed rather ruffled so I suggest you don’t keep him waiting. He’s nobody’s friend when his moods go all crazy.”

She swung up effortlessly and threw her body up on the beam and started walking away backwards, calling out as she did so.

“A warning fair bird, the sun’s about to start setting.”

It’s the middle of the day

Puzzled, he cupped his hands over his mouth and called back, “What do you mean?”

“Start listening, this place has a voice and it’s trying to speak to you, we can only translate for so long.”

~

Cas stood hesitantly outside Dean’s door. It was half open but he figured it would be rude to not knock. He was about to rap his knuckles on the wood when he heard a heavy sigh from someone in the room. He peeked his head in and saw Dean standing with a picture frame in his hand. Dean looked… sad as he gazed down at the frame. He set it on his desk and turned to poke around on his book shelf. From what Cas could see, it was a picture of a young boy, maybe eight years old. He bore a shocking resemblance to Dean, but the photo looked quite old. He felt like an intruder just staring, so he spoke up. 

“I heard you wanted to see me Dean?”

He turned around and looked at Cas, but it was nothing but stone and slate, one that lacked any of his usual mirth. “Sit down Cas, I’ve got something for you.”

Immediately he was worried, but decided to let Dean explain rather than push the matter when it didn’t need to be. “Yeah?”

“An old friend of mine, a really old friend actually, contacted me the other day. He caught wind of what I’ve been up to and requested to use “the service” as he called it. He’s not the kind of guy who usually asks for help, Benny’s always been stubborn that way. He wants me to find someone to mess up some guy who’s trying to mess around with his smuggling operations. Not kill him or anything, but make an example for anyone he might be working with. I’d do it myself but I don’t get involved in personal cases.”

“So do you need my help in picking out someone suitable?” he asked, running through the list of people he’d seen in action, “obviously Crowley or Alastair is off the list. They’d be totally useless. Uhm, Charlie might be able to deal with it but she’s pretty swamped with the guys from Venezuela. Chuck doesn’t really do much of that, plus he’s dealing with the shipment from London. I could ask Abb-”

“Cas I want you to do it,” cut in Dean. 

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he growled, “You’re perfectly capable of doing something as simple as this. You’ll be given instructions and you’re not to deviate from them. It’s not hard to understand.”

“No I get that I just don’t know why out of everyone you have here why you’re asking me.”

“People have been talking.”

“Yes people talk, it’s one of the benefits of having a functioning mouth and judging by your face something I should do less often.”

“Cas this is serious,” snarled Dean, “People have been coming to me and asking why you’re still here. They’re jealous and annoyed. I haven’t handpicked anyone since this thing started when I had no other choice. Then all of a sudden you come along and displace a lot of things. This is still a job, and if you don’t feel like putting in any of the work, then they feel like you shouldn’t be here. My talent scouts feel offended that I’ve ignored all their suitors and I just picked you. We take one person a year from the outside, one. That’s it Cas. They’re starting to question if my judgements been impeded by something which is something I cannot afford to have.”

“Dean,” said Cas hesitantly, “if this is about my lack of victims lately it’s just because I haven’t really been feeling up to i-”

“Oh please Cas you really think I’m going to buy that bullshit?”, he slammed his hand down on the desk loud enough to make Cas flinch, “Don’t put yourself on some kind of pedestal, you’re here to kill, it’s your job.. Everyone else has a specific set of rules, strictly enforced. I’ve let you slip through them. Everyone is supposed to be trained in every station, you haven’t been. If they think you’re clouding their “Fearless Leader’s” judgement or if people start thinking your not worth it, they will get rid of you whether I like it or not. Two of my best members have been actively revolting, they refuse to do anything. Remember where you are Cas, these people are killers and won’t hesitate to fuck you up. This assignment will hopefully let them see that you deserve to be here if you perform it properly. You don’t get a say in it. He’s already in your room. Your instructions will be there too.”

Exhaling, Cas nodded and stood up. “I’ll do my very best. I do deserve to be here, and I’ll do what I can to prove that.”

“Good. Get going, you’re on a time limit. And whatever you do, keep him alive. Don’t let yourself get distracted, and don’t let me down.”

Before he left, he turned and pointed to the frame. “Can I ask you something?”

“As long as it’s quick yeah.”

“Who’s the kid in the picture there?”

Dean froze, but didn’t turn to face Cas. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But Dean-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t you have a job or something to do?”  
~

Cas strolled into the room whistling and plucked his apron off the hook. He couldn’t let his charge see how nervous he really was, or else they’d have the upper hand in a power play Cas couldn’t afford to lose. 

Being assigned to any mob or gang related member was a big deal since the House always took a huge risk in taking part with them. Cutting up a cheating ex and his girl or an in-law who was trying to ruin your relationship was one thing, but gangs had friends that could seriously screw them over. Dean knew most of the heads from his old smuggling days so it usually passed without incident, but the trouble with being a neutral party was that everyone wanted you on their side. Daily he had people asking him if they would sign over to their cause and saying no in the wrong way was dangerous. The local gangs that protected the House would be no match for international cartels if they got trigger happy or decided that the House was more trouble than it was worth. Many of the Houseguests had been in situations where they’d seen someone paying Dean to take care of an enemy, only for the same person to wind up on their tables the day after. 

Drug related ones usually didn’t want people killed, only roughed up so they wouldn’t risk getting caught doing it themselves. 

The man on his table could be described only as a slug, some fat middle aged man with a tanned complexion. If he was scared, he didn’t show it on the surface in the slightest, but he was in a gang. Some of their own rituals were pretty fucked up so being tied down to a table probably wasn’t that scary to him. Scared or not, pain was pain and no one was immune to it. He hated cocky people, and this man reeked of it. 

Ignoring him for the time, Cas strolled over to his table and picked up the water stained note pinned into the corkboard. 

To Whom It Will Concern

Breaking of the hands and wrists, is to be followed by skin removal on the chest only. The area is to be cauterized by metal sheet if possible, if not any other brand to seal the wound will do. Do not harm the face. Make him scream, it will be considered a fail if he does not. He must be kept alive, but any deviations from the rules will count as failure.

The note was unsigned and the ink was raised like it’d been written in old fountain pen. 

Well he’s got a dramatic streak, skin flaying shouldn’t be too hard but the cauterizing… that’s going to be over his rib cage. He’s going to be going through major shock.

Cas tapped his chin and hummed, turning his attention to the forge. It had been lit hours ago so the various bits and pieces of metal was already white hot and smoking. He didn’t really have any larger pieces since the smell of burnt flesh made him sick to his stomach, but if he roped a few pieces together he could probably cover a few larger areas and speed up the process by at least a few minutes. Slipping the gloves on, he pushed them further into the fire so they’d be hot enough. He needed to make sure they didn’t get too bad though, else they’d only pull off the muscle and result in more trauma. Skin of the chest was thin and he didn’t want to damage any of the ribs or knick an organ by accident. The metal wouldn’t seal anything it tore off so he’d bleed out. If they were too hot he’d end up causing third degree burns to the man’s vitals, and there was no coming back from that. 

Shouldn’t be too bad, now stop shaking

He faked a yawn and casually threw the note into the fire, watching it turn to ash in seconds. Cas tied the apron as he walked closer to the man. He wore only a sweaty wife-beater and boxer shorts that smelled that they hadn’t been washed in months. Gagging, he moved over to the man’s head and looked down at him. The man had to almost completely roll his eyes back to get a good look at him. 

“Can I help you?”

“Well,” said Cas, “You could tell me your name, that’d be nice. I like to get to know my clients.”

“Fuck you, how about that?”

“Well then!” laughed Cas, “Hi there Fuck You. My name’s Cas, and I’m going to be your server today!”

The man rolled his eyes and groaned, “Alright you can drop the act. I know what I’m here for, and I know that you’re trying way too hard to scare me. You really think this is my first rodeo kid?”

“Didn’t even bring me a virgin? Aw come on what fun is that!”

Cas patted the man’s cheek, “Don’t worry, I’ll still take care of you though. You’re in good hands buddy I promise.”

Breaking hands was the easy part and wrists were easy to snap. Shattering them would probably be a little more desirable since they’d for one, hurt a lot more, and it’d never heal properly. A small carpenter’s hammer would do the job just fine. 

An array of them were hung up on the corkboard wall by nails. He plucked one off the wall at random and did a few practice swings in the air. 

Oh yeah, this’ll do

His clients hands were above his head but splayed apart with the palms up so he could have gotten to the finger webbing if required. Taking aim at the thumb first, Cas raised his arm up high and brought it down with as much force as he could muster. A shock tore through his arm when the hammer struck, but the man only winced slightly. It was clearly broken on impact, Cas had heard it go, but he didn’t seemed phased at all. 

What the hell….

“Oh, that stung a bit. Is there a beehive in here or something?”

Cocky fucker

He struck the same spot over and over until the man’s hand resembled a mangled pieces of fruit and the thumb was nearly separated from the hand, but still the man barely even flinched. He was sweating now at least, but not even panting. 

Cas repeated the process for the other hand, this time grinding his own thumb into the wound and manually separating the bones, but again there was little response. How was he doing this? How was this not even making him freeze up at least a little bit? 

It was infuriating, to have this man openly mocking his efforts. Cas had to press his hands together to stop from turning the man’s face to pulp with the hammer. It was clear his face had been roughed up before since it was scarred and pockmarked. His nose was bent to the side like a boxers, and his ears had been slit in multiple occasions all around the outside. 

That’s probably why I’m not supposed to touch his face, guy can’t feel anything in there anymore. I mean it makes sense, beating a dead horse. It doesn’t seem like he can really feel anything though.

“Confused yet?”

Cas looked down at the man and squinted, trying to figure him out. “This should be hurting at least a little bit. Even if you love pain, your hands are in pieces and the flesh on the left is pretty much gone. Why can’t you feel what I’m doing?”

“Congenital analgesia. Means I can’t feel physical pain. It’s great when you’re in a business when you get shot every other day.”

Cas couldn’t help but feel… slightly offended. They’d given him someone who can’t feel pain? What was the point in that! It was an impossible task, how was he supposed to make someone scream when they couldn’t feel what he was doing? They’d set him up to fail, unless… unless they hadn’t known. 

It wasn’t something he’d ever heard of before, so it probably wasn’t that common. Unlikely that they would have known the man had it, they probably assumed he was jacked up on something or had a pain tolerance like no one else. It would make the most sense after all, people making up excuses for what they didn’t know. And if they assigned Cas to him, that meant Dean actually believed in his abilities, enough so that he could make this man do the impossible. But there was no way to complete his task and make him scream, he couldn’t just walk out and explain the situation since the man would probably started squealing if Dean even scratched him with a fingernail. He’d just have to lie and say that he’d made the man scream, otherwise it’d be a fail. 

Oh Jesus Christ why me. I’ll just have to lie, Dean said they took the camera’s out of the room and even then Benny wouldn’t be watching with him. I hope.

Cas sharpened his skinning knife and avoided looking at the man. The room was filled with a scraping noise has he rubbed the blade against his finger to test the edge. It would be pointless trying to scare him or be intimidating in any way; he just wasn’t going to be interested. 

“Say, tell me kid, how did you get into all of this?”

Cas looked over to the man and raised an eyebrow, “That’s got to be a first, someone not recognizing me.”

“Never seen you in my life.”

“Well,” Cas admitted, “It’s nice. I used to be a serial killer over in America. Why are you interested?”

He shrugged against his bonds, “I’m a curious guy, what can I say? And not to killing me, how’d you get to this place. I meant like the whole shibang, killin’ people and whatnot.”

Something tugged in the back of his mind, warning him not to engage this guy. There was something disgusting that radiated off of him, but Cas chose to ignore it seeing as the guy was in chains and there was nothing he could really do with the information.

“Started off with cats and neighbourhood pets. Yappy dogs that got on my nerves the general usual stuff when it comes to my breed. It was a sort of addictive therapy a way to vent my angst that every teenager goes through. Wound up moving on to people by the time I was seventeen.”

“Who was the first?” asked the man. His face screwed up in discomfort as the skinning knife slid under the skin on his stomach and started working it’s way around.

Cas had to pause and think, it’d been a fews years ago and he’d been more curious as to what would happen. “It was a girl, name was Heather or Hanna or something. She was the class freak, came from somewhere out east I think. Kind of a snob so it’s not surprising the kids hated her guts.”

I should probably go take the bars out, they’re going to be pretty hot by now

“Could dish it but couldn’t take it?”

“Yup, pretty much,” replied Cas as he worked the blade further under the skin, “On the days I was at school we sat together since no one really fancied me either. She wound up giving me her phone number somewhere along the lines. I’d stolen a phone from the locker room since there was no way my family could have afforded it. At night she got real sad, saying how everyone hated her and blah blah. I never responded, until one night I’d just had enough y’know? I wasn’t her damn therapist I don’t know why she thought I was.

“Told her that she should finally man up and do what she was threatening to do. Said her life would be a lot easier as an angel rather than a normal human girl. I wasn’t outright nasty. See the trick with getting someone to kill themselves is you have to lead them too it, y’know make them trust it’s the best option. If you’re just like wow you’re a bitch go die, they’re not going to out of spite. But, if you make it seem like a better option then they’ll do the rest for you.”

While the man wasn’t reacting much, his body was starting to react to the trauma. He was bleeding a lot, but Cas had to remove the entire thing before cauterizing it. But the amount of blood was worrying, he needed to hurry. 

“That’s pretty gnarly.”

He put his hands up in a “what can you do” gesture and returned to his job. “It’s not nearly as satisfying as doing it yourself, but it’s where I got my name. She thanked me for “making her an angel”, so I went by the angel maker and started carving wings into people before I dumped the body. I fed the police some symbolism bullshit and how I was doing Gods good work, but that’s the real reason.”

“Hoping they’d put you in a psych ward or?”

“Nah, just thought it’d be more interesting. They would have found a way to send my ass to the chair no matter how crazy I was. I was just that special. Plus I think they were bribing the jury.”

Crack!

Cas swore loudly as a crackling noise emitted from the forge. Part of the fire must have died and they’d been exposed to the cold air too quickly. If they’d shattered he wouldn’t have anything to close the wounds with and he’d be in a much tighter spot than he would have liked. He slammed the knife on the table and ran over to the forge. 

Luckily they weren’t in pieces like he’d feared, but they were riddled with cracks and looked extremely brittle. Cas didn’t really have a choice, so he pulled them aside and prayed they wouldn’t fall apart too quickly. He only had about a quarter of the chest to do, but it was right over the heart.

“Doing okay over there big guy?”

“Yeah, managed to save them. Wouldn’t want you bleeding out just yet.”

“No way that’d be absolutely terrible. Why wouldn’t I want to bleed to death?”

Cas grunted and slid the knife under the last section of skin. “I’m really surprised, I’d honestly thought you’d pass out from shock by now.”

He shook his head, “They shot me full of adrenaline before you came in, seven grams or something like that.”

Cas gagged and shot the man a look of pure bewilderment, “That’s enough to kill a damn bull. How are you still breathing?”

“I don’t know man but I’m having one Hell of a time.”

He put his hands on his hips and chewed on his lower lip trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to do with this massive chunk of skin. He grabbed the edge of it and started rolling it up like an old rug, trying not to make a face at the nasty squishy noises it was making. 

Gross

Chucking it on the counter, he slipped on a pair of gloves and trotted over to the bars cooling on the side. He frowned when he saw the rods were still white in some places but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer; adrenaline would be speeding up his bleeding and he couldn’t risk to cool the bars in water and shatter them. 

When’s some Pam when you need it

Crossing his fingers, he tied a spare length of chain around the pieces until it was big enough to cover everything. He sent out a quick prayer and slowly lowered the bars to the man’s chest, hoping nothing would break.

He wanted to gag when the sound of flesh and bone popping flooded through the air and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh filled his nose. Cas had burnt the body of a victim once and swore off it forever since the smell had stayed under his skin for weeks. It was musky and charcoal like, with metallic undertones from the exposed veins and pools of blood. 

The edges of the cut were all he needed to do, but the man was still bleeding. Cas didn’t understand how this was supposed to help. They’d be checking for scorch marks on the ribs, but the only thing that was going to stop this bleeding was a massive graft and about a thousand prolene sutures. 

I’ve got to get this thing off him, there’s no way this is working and it’s just going to hurt him. 

Wiping sweat from his brow, he tightened his grip on the bars and pulled. 

Cas was pretty sure the rest of his chest came off too.

Blood drained from his face as he watched the skin stick and cling to the bar as he jerked it away. Anything that had been closed had just been torn off with the thick coating of flesh now charring on the metal. 

“FUCK!”

He threw the bar aside and tore off his apron. He pressed the fabric to the wounds and tried in vain to stop the bleeding. His apron was soaked completely in seconds, but Cas had no idea what to do. The little voice he knew too well was shouting at him to do something, anything at all to keep him alive but at this point it was pointless. A surgeon couldn’t have done something.

A small croak squeezed its way from the bloodied mans lips, one unfortunately familiar to Cas.

His death rattle.

Chuck told him later they’d found him still pressing down on his chest trying to cease a blood flow that didn’t exist anymore. He’d been drenched in sweat and covered head to toe in fluid, with his jaw clenched so tight the House doctor suspected he’d sprained it. They said he’d been mumbling something in Russian to himself, and he’d lashed out when they’d come to pull him away.

Cas sat now in his room, foot drumming against the ground and finger tapping on his arm where it was crossed. His breath was shallow and erratic but he could feel himself shaking like a leaf. He’d screwed up and screwed up badly, there was no way he could talk himself out of this or make any kind of excuse.

The creak of his door nearly made him jump out of his skin. As his heart went back to it’s crazed pace, he looked up and nearly cried.

Dean was standing in his doorway, not masking anything on his face. Cas saw everything from hatred to disappointment in his stare, but he couldn’t decide which burned the most. Dean turned to leave and Cas knew he had to follow.

They stopped at the entrance to Dean’s office and Cas ducked his head as he entered, ashamed to be back here when he’d left with such confidence. Dean was close behind, but didn’t lock the door behind him. 

“Hey, Dean lo-”

SMASH

Cas jumped as Dean backhanded a vase on his desk to the ground and glass littered the carpet. 

“Don’t you speak!”

He grabbed Cas by the shoulders and spoke through gritted teeth. Rage poured off of him.

“Cas don’t you know what you’ve done? You killed a man we needed to keep alive. I trusted you and this is what you give me? A failure?”

“I-”

“I said shut up!” he roared, “Cas you don’t know what failure in the House gets you do you? When you kill someone that you’ve been told to keep alive, when you go against the rules, you end up on my table. The punishment here is death, there’s no exceptions.”

“Oh God.”

“I’m not going to kill you Cas. I can’t and I’m not going to try. But,” he paused, “I do still need to punish you in some way that’ll show the guests I’m not messing around.

“So what did you have in mind, if you don’t mind me asking?” squeaked Cas.

“You’ll see. Come on, we’re going downstairs.  
~

For Cas at least, his little torture area had always seemed oddly homey. Whether it was his old one he’d had before prison or the nest he’d made here it was his little hole in the ground that he could relax. But now that Dean was there, it seemed hostile.

He felt a small amount of sympathy for every person he’d had strapped down to these tables, they really were extremely uncomfortable and the straps chaffed like a bitch. Dean was putting extra weight in his steps so the boots, Cas noted, would make a louder clunking noise on the floor.   
Damn that’s smart

Dean hadn’t asked him to take his clothes off before he strapped him in so he doubted there’d be any cutting involved, but his mind was racing. His heart seemed to beat in time with Deans steps. He was on his back so he couldn’t see what Dean was grabbing off the wall, but it sounded heavy based on the grunt he made while carrying it over. 

To Cas’ horror, Dean stopped by his legs and was carrying a massive, dirty sledgehammer. Cas could barely even lift it off the wall. 

“Cas do you understand why this is happening to you? Don’t speak, just nod.”

He nodded quickly, tensing his muscles and resisting the desire to pull away and fight. His breathing was out of control and his hands were shaking.

“Then, you understand if you fuck up again it’s going to be a lot worse than just this and a lot longer.”

Cas was shaking violently as Dean raised the hammer over his head and brought it down directly over his knee. The bone provided no protection against the metal head as it slammed down into his leg. It gave with a sickening, wet crack as it turned to powder underneath his skin. The skin split in two and blood shot out the side, spraying the floor and table with coats of red. Pain exploded in his leg and shot up to his spine. His back arched and couldn’t hold back an agonizing scream. It tore through his chest and throat as his nerves went ballistic and his leg bent the wrong way from the force of the hammer. 

Dean wiped his forehead and threw down the hammer. He placed his hand on the wound and pressed as hard as he could. Cas’ eyes rolled up in his head and he moaned loudly. Tears slid down his cheeks as he cried out in pain as Dean tore the wound open more, ripping into the flesh with his bare hands. He could feel when his nails scraped what was left of his knee and started sobbing when he tore through a large portion of muscles. 

When he was finished defacing his leg, Dean stood back and wiped his hands on his shirt. He undid the straps and stood back. 

“Get up. Get up and walk towards me Castiel.”

Cas curled on side and couldn’t stop crying. The pain was turning the corners of his eyes red and there was a fog over his vision. He stretched a shaky hand down but jerked it away when when the slightest touch sent a new wave of red hot pain up his leg. Dean snarled and shoved him off the table and onto the cold concrete. The air was knocked out of his lungs as he landed on his back and smacked his head on the floor. He lay there, gasping like a fish as Dean kicked him hard in the ribs again and again.  
“I said up!”

Wheezing and sputtering, Cas rolled over and pushed himself off the ground. it felt like his forearms were made of jelly and his entire body was wracked with the pain from his torn knee. There wasn’t enough strength left in him to stand and he knew that. He didn’t even have the energy to try. The pain was so intense he was having trouble seeing. 

Dean snorted and spit in Cas’ face before leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. Cas could hear the faintest murmur of “fucking pathetic” under his breath before he stormed out. Cas just stayed on the floor and tried to remember to breath.   
~

“Can we sit down for a minute? My legs are getting tired.”

“Jesus Cas,” laughed Dean, “You’re younger than me and you’re already worn out!”

He rolled his eyes and limped over to a rock, trying not to put any weight on his injured leg. His painkillers had started to wear off and it felt like he was walking on broken glass. He was pretty sure all the blisters on the sole of his feet from wearing the same pair of shoes for two weeks had burst and were currently pussing all over his shoes. 

The healing process for his knee was going to be an extremely slow one. The doctor they’d had brought him forbade him from even trying to put weight on it for at least a few weeks. If he wanted to get up, someone had to carry him. They’d done some shitty surgery to try piece back a few of the bone chunks, but the doctor couldn’t do much and Dean had made sure of that. Cas would be able to walk, but with a heavy limp and probably a cane for the rest of his life. When he’d been good enough to leave his room he wasn’t surprised to see Dean actively avoiding him. 

So it had surprised him when Dean invited him along on a walk with him through the forest behind the House. Cas didn’t want to refuse, and didn’t think Dean would have let him anyway. Cas wasn’t exactly keen on going on a nice long hike with the man who’d nearly crippled him, but he pushed his anxieties to the bottom of his stomach and agreed to go. 

The moss coating the rock was wet and soaked into his jeans as he sat, but he tried to ignore it as best he could. The forest encasing the House was unlike any he’d seen in America, all greens and grays. It looked straight out of a fantasy novel and he half expected to see small winged creatures darting about in the bushes whenever he looked around. Dean plopped down beside him and turned his face to the sky, smiling as the wind rustled through his hair. Cas felt a twinge of guilt bringing the subject up when he seemed so at peace, but it was eating at him not knowing what was going on.

“Hey uh, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s about the other day, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it but-”

The atmosphere of the entire forest seemed to darken as Dean’s face fell into a stone mask, “If you know I don’t want to talk about it then why are you bringing it up?”

Cas knew he had to answer carefully or he’d be completely shut out with zero hope getting back in for a long time. His tone was laced with warning, but Cas decided to completely ignore them for the sake of information.

“Because Dean, I’m tired of not knowing anything about you. The whole “Oh I’m a super secret bad boy routine fits you really well and I’ll admit, it’s pretty hot. But it’s frustrating Dean!” Cas balled his hands into fists, “I’m entrusting my life and safety with a man who I know nothing about! You’re an enigma and I get that’s the whole point, oh mister mystery, but I’m not going to stand for that. Everyone else knows except for me, and I get that I fucked up, trust me if anyone understand that I do. I’ve got the busted ass knee to show that. But I want to know about you.”

“It’s a long story Cas.”

He raised an eyebrow and gestured to his knee, which had turned an angry purple and swelled to nearly twice its normal size around the stitches, “Does it look I’m going anywhere soon?”

Dean averted his eyes and crossed his hands on his lap, like he was trying to figure out where to start. Cas leaned back to give him space.

“My family traveled a lot, it was basically the one thing holding us all together. My parents didn’t fight a lot but their marriage needed a lot of work. We’d travel all year round, but during the winter we always had one massive overseas trip for like half a month. We weren’t a huge family so we could afford it. Dad’s job paid well. My brother Sam and I, we were…”

Cas had a feeling Dean hadn’t said that name in years. It reminded Cas of someone finding an old beloved toy from their childhood and blowing the dust off of it. 

So that’s who was in the picture, it was his brother

Dean was trying not to stammer, but it was clear he was forcing the words out and it was taking a lot of effort to do so. “We did all of our school stuff in modules so we didn’t have to worry about missing any. Moved around too much anyway, to be in a normal school. Sam always wanted to be though, kid was a fucking genius,” he chuckled, some small nostalgic smile creeping onto his face, “Like give him any problem he’d have it solved just like that.”

“You and your brother, were you guys pretty close?”

He exhaled, trying to regain control of the tears sliding down his face, “Yeah, Sam and I were thick as thieves. Mom and Dad didn’t really get along well most days since he was an ass, so it was just the two of us. We didn’t have anyone else, when you live in a new town every month you stop trying to make friends.”

“Yeah I can relate to that,” mumbled Cas bitterly, raising a hand to the scar on his cheek. The bone had never healed quite right, so it left an ugly purple scar from the welt on his face. 

“Your Mom and Dad never really get along?”

“My Dad,” growled Cas, “was a fucked up, abusive, piece of shit who is probably rotting in a gutter off the east coast. My Mom was a saint, I don’t know why she was with him in the first place.”

Dean wiped tears from his eyes and coughed, “Did he do that to you?”

Cas nodding, his entire body suddenly ached like he was covered in bruises again. “It got worse when my brothers started leaving home, his rage got less and less outlets and I was the last brother who fought back. My jaw was so swollen when my oldest brother left the house I didn’t even get to say goodbye. He’d never been my favorite but, I don’t know, it would have been nice I guess. Last I heard he was head of some company overseas.”

“How many brothers did you have?”

“In total, four, all older. I was supposed to have a baby sister, her name was going to be Anna, but that didn’t happen. All of them left before I did, haven’t seen them since.”

Dean seemed genuinely sympathetic, something Cas had never seen before. “Did they all just walk out one day or?”

“Yeah pretty much,” sighed Cas, “Micheal tried to leave for some far away school calmly and say goodbye, but that didn’t happen. Lou, or as my father called him Lucifer, just straight up left after screaming at my father and breaking his nose. That’s when dad did this,” Cas gestured to the scar on his cheek, “Man’s got one Hell of a right hook.”

He leaned back and gazed up at the sky, trying to remember things he’d kept suppressed for so long “Raphael tried to leave with dignity, he’d gotten some job and was moving out to follow it. I didn’t have any dignity that night, I was throwing up after my stomach was bruised. My brother Gabriel, spent the entire night with me. He left a few weeks later, snuck out in the night and just vanished without a trace. Dad shoved me down the stairs when he found out; my legs were so mangled they were scared I’d never walk again. As for Anna, Mom was pregnant and we just couldn’t afford another child and couldn’t pay hospital bills, so Dad did it the old fashioned way. Pushed her down the stairs.”

“Fuck man, yeah Dad wasn’t that bad too us. I mean it was a lot more verbal, but there would be the odd slap to the head.”

“Oh sorry,” said Cas quickly, “Kinda took over story time didn’t I?”

“Nah it’s fine, I needed the break.”

“Anyway, I think I was like, 13, yeah I was 13 when we went to… I don’t know, it was Slovakia I think. Sam had been begging to go Poland for months but that was the cheaper option at the time, we’d never been to a Slavic country before so it was exciting. We usually stayed more western since Mom knew a few languages that were more popular there. I mean the country was absolutely beautiful. We went to some weird ghosts and spirits festival and had a hoot, it was great.”

“But,” said Dean, his voice was little more than a harsh whisper, “it didn’t last. We were walking home one night but our hotel was in the rougher side of the town we were staying in. They must have known we were tourists, we didn’t stand out in any other way.”

“Fuckers jumped us, smashed Dad over the head first then went after us. Mom put up a pretty good fight, she caught one of them right in the eye with her nail. But I mean it was hopeless, ten of them against two kids and a pissed off mom. We were all taken back to some shithole they lounged in and they kept screaming at us. At the time none of us knew what they were saying, but after I’d picked up the language I realized they’d wanted our money and passports, help make counterfeits maybe I don’t know.”

Cas noticed Dean was digging his nails into his palms the more he talked, so he put his hand on top and looked at him. Dean didn’t look back, but held onto Cas’ hand as he spoke. 

“I mean it wasn’t fair in the slightest, how could we have known what they wanted? But doesn’t matter anyway. Dad woke up last and he had no clue what was going on, absolutely no fucking idea, but he flipped. Tried to attack the main guy who was shouting at us, but didn’t see he had a gun in his hand. Wound up with a bullet right through his eye, dropped like a sack of rocks.”

He described everything in a flat voice, like one of those dolls that speak after you pull their string.

“Mom screamed. Sam and I just stared. To think, Sam didn’t even flinch, just sat there and stared. He was nine at the time, but he didn’t say a word. I pretty much just wrapped myself around him; any bullet that touched him would have to go through me first.”

“Mom went next,” he said, closing his eyes, “they just put the gun to her head and did the same. She wanted to say something I could tell, but they killed her before she got the chance. She was just gone, half an hour ago laughing about how weird the food she’d ordered was and now laying down dead in front of me. All I really remember was not feeling anything. I wasn’t sad, angry, nothing really. Shock probably, there’s not much else it could be. I’m not some psychopath without emotions, but it felt like I was.”

“Dean if this is getting to be too much we can stop, okay?”

If he was being honest with himself, Cas was the one who was uncomfortable. He didn’t know what he could say, if he could say anything that would sound genuine and not regurgitated from some self help book. It was unsettling seeing Dean so disturbed about something, monsters weren’t supposed to get scared. They were supposed to just kill because it was fun.

Come on Cas, you know that’s just a lie they tell because they don’t want people to feel bad for you.

Dean however, completely ignored him and carried on. 

“Sam didn’t have a chance to say anything either. Took three of them to grab me and pull me off of him. I completely fucked up my right hand trying to punch their lights out, but it didn’t do much good. I was just thrashing around and screaming my head off; my throat was actually bleeding afterwards. It was like I didn’t have any control, my instinct just took off and I turned into a beast. Yeah Mom and Dad were important to me, but Sam was just something special.”

“I think I can guess what happened next.”

“They made me dig their fucking graves Cas.”

His voice caught halfway through, but Cas could see him wrestling for control with his own emotions. Cas just bared his openly, letting his eyes widen and fill with horror. 

“Same night too, just handed me a shovel and pointed. I started on my own figuring I wasn’t going to be any good to them, but they made me stop after the third one. Dragged me along with them to some van and I was carted off with a bag over my head and my arms tied behind my back. We’d driven from California to New York once, but that felt like the longest ride of my life.

“I wish I knew more about that night, but my brain’s just blocked most of it out. I’m content to let it too, don’t see a reason for me to just go through it again. Most of what I went through those first few months I was so drugged up I can’t remember a damn thing. I was always inhaling god knows what until I eventually built up an immunity. But what they’d wanted me for was to act as a smuggler, the typical stupid american tourist gig. Pretend I don’t speak the language the airport guys squawking at me, then wander blindly and skip customs with a suitcase full of coke.

“Coke was the main thing we handled, coke and various types of heroine that came in from Russia. We never cooked anything ourselves, just brought it into the country and distributed it to dealers and whatnot. The dispensable third party as most came to realize.”

Cas was a little disturbed at how easily Dean told the story, like he was an underpaid narrator looking in one someone’s life. 

“We were attacked by a gang that doesn’t exist anymore, didn’t really put up much of a fight. Half of those guys were so doped up all the time they didn’t realize they’d been shot. They took a couple of us to use as their own, assimilated into their ring.”

“Why don’t they exist anymore?”

“I gutted the fuckers a few months in and burnt the place to the ground. Lesson one about me Cas, I don’t like being pushed around. Once they came to trust me enough, I took a razor blade and sliced them open. Building was old so it lit up perfectly. They hadn’t set down real roots yet, but it caught the attention of a few bigger guys. So they tracked me down and asked if I’d work with them. I needed a new start so I said yes. 

“That’s the way those kind of operations work, you gradually move up by impressing everyone ahead of you and proving you are worth keeping around. I spent a good solid thirteen years in the drug industry, but not as some kingpin or whatever. I had a nickname, “Son of Thanatos”.”

He said the name in finger quotes and rolled his name, “He’s the greek god of death. It was a stupid name, but it was important. Names give you something to be afraid of, they generate power. I went on for years as a hitman until I realized how tasteless it all was. By that time I’d realized the rush it gave me, but there was no skill in it. I was bored with it, I wanted something new. I was sick and tired of always taking orders and not giving them.

“So I left,” said Dean, sounding more comfortable talking with all of the bad stuff out of the way, “I started travelling north, just to get away from it all. A few people tried to follow me, but they wound up with an red hot iron up the ass. Left me alone after that.”

“S I changed my name and started wandering around. I’d meet up with backpackers every now and then and travel with them. Wanderings a lot more fun when you’ve got people to do it with and stories to tell. That’s just how it works, it’s a snowball effect, you see someone you like you ride together for safety. You ever get to travel much Cas?”

He shook his head, “Family never had the money, only traveling I did was across states to get away from Dad and run from the law.”

“It changes you,” admitted Dean, “When you’re somewhere new where no one knows or gives a fuck about you, it’s humbling. I wanted to change that, I wanted to walk down the streets a feared and respected man. There’s no fun in being a face in the crowd.”

“Biggest way I got around was train hopping. I’d just climb into the empty cab of one when no one was looking but it didn’t really matter where it was heading. That’s the fun of it though, the mystery of where your next stop’s gonna be. I used to love waving to all the rich people who’d be on those fancy Europe train tours, the looks on their faces were priceless. Here was this greasy, bone thin kid in a leather jacket and jeans that were pretty much just patches at that point, sitting in the back of a coal train waving and laughing his ass off. 

“Those were some of the best days of my life. It’s so freeing when you don’t have a place to return to, when no one’s expecting you to come home. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you’re in total control of your life and it’s wonderful. Yeah you’re gross and hungry and smell really bad, but it’s an experience. You find a lot out about yourself and other people that way. I met some of the most interesting people I’ve ever known doing that. 

“You just band together,” Dean explained, “You stay together for warmth, you steal and beg together until you decide that this is your stop and say your goodbyes. I never stayed in contact with them, cellphones weren’t a luxury we had so we just parted ways with a name and maybe an address. Bad times make bedfellows out of the strangest people, but that’s how friends are made I guess. Bonding over bad situations.”

“I did that for about… two years I think, then I started backpacking instead.”

“The idea for the House came when I was about twenty-seven. I hadn’t killed anyone in years, and I was planning on messing up the group I was with since I had had enough of them. There were three guys, two college students trying to get in a final hurrah before school and just a drifter. They were shitfaced drunk and were going to pass out when the one guy whips out a god damn six string guitar.”

Dean laughed as described the thing, waving his hands around trying to show just how weird the thing was, “That fucking thing looked like it had seen both world wars and had personally been used to smack a dictator upside the head. It was warped and nearly falling apart. He’d gouged with a pick so that there was this massive swipe mark where he’d strum, there was none of the original paint or stain left on that thing. There was actually a piece missing and it only had five strings actually. There was so much duck tape on it. LIke we had picked this guy up in Bohemia and we were in Sweden, almost on the border to Finland. He’d carried that thing from Bohemia to Sweden in his bag without showing anyone.

“He just sits down and starts tuning this thing up, but god did it still sound horrible. It sounded like he was killing it every time he plucked a string. I guess he was drunk enough not to notice. And he just starts bellowing out this song like his life depends on it.”

“Had you ever heard it before?”

Dean shook his head and chuckled, “Nope, I was pretty surprised it was in english too, asshole barely spoke a word of it but damn was he a crooner.”

Sighing, he seemed to get lost in his own thoughts for a second. Cas tried to urge him forward, but Dean wouldn’t speak. Seconds dragged on before he opened his mouth, but he sounded happy rather than thoughtful. 

“It was a folk song apparently, a really old one. It’s called “The House of the Rising Sun”. 

He had a wistful smile on his face, “The song tells the story of someone’s life that went wrong in New Orleans, and warning mothers to make sure that their child doesn’t suffer the same fate as the singer. There was something about that song that just, hit me I guess. They almost sounded like the words of a dying man, calling out for everyone to leave him and run for their lives. Sounded appropriate for a torture house don’t you think?”

Cas paused for a moment, trying to process everything Dean was talking about. “That guitar in your office, that his?”

Nodding, Dean continued, “It’s the only thing I can play it on, doesn’t sound right on any other guitar. He gave it to me as a parting gift before he headed off to Paris, surprised it hasn’t just turned to dust every time I touch it considering I’ve beaten it up even more.”

Dean stood and offered Cas his hand. He took and braced himself, trying to keep as much weight as possible off his leg. “Good thing you’re not so fragile huh?”

A blush made itself known on Cas’ cheeks and he just laughed. Dean started walking, offering Cas no help this time but keeping his pace slow enough that he could keep up. Hobbling along, he took in all he could of the forest before he was shut up in the House’s gates again. Fresh air he swore had magical properties. His room was always hot and stuffy and smelled like the spices of some incense his neighbors burned. Out here was clean and open, even if it was just part of the cage surrounding the House. 

Dean looked regal in the light that pierced through the canopy, like a long lost guardian of the forest finally returning home after a long trek. In full light, flecks of gold could be seen in his eyes and his freckles were much more visible. But it also showed the signs of wear on the man, crows feet and laugh lines already setting in amidst the bags under his eyes. His skin looked a little too tight for his face and Cas could see a slight hollow in his cheeks. Probably hadn’t been eating as much as he was supposed to. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest; if Dean wasn’t taking care of himself it was because he was cleaning up after Cas’ mess. Mix that with the stress of running and taking care of a house of mass murders that were slowly turning on each other, Cas was surprised the dude hadn’t exploded yet. 

Strongest man I’ve ever met

Sensing the drop in the mood, Dean started talking again, but sounding less burdened. Like it didn’t cause him pain to get the words out this time. 

“I mean after realizing what I wanted to do, it was a lot easier getting started than I’d planned,” he bit the inside of his cheek and continued, “Getting the House was the simplest part. Backpackers are troves of info on places the public has no idea, so I made the trek west and over the border until I found this place. It was just a rumor that I’d heard of, but even if it was only a shack that was better than nothing which at the time, was what I had.

“I knew I’d need help from the most skilled people if I was gonna make this work, no way I could do it by myself. Charlie was the first one I set my eyes on. I’d had the place for a few years, just dragging in tourists whenever they got too close. She was smart and two heads is better than one. Getting her here, not so easy. I mean I had no money for any tickets going either way, I couldn’t just sweep her off her feet since I really didn’t want to be stuck with a pissed off arsonist. So I used the one thing I had going for me.”

“What,” huffed Cas, “Your dazzling good looks?”

“Charm and the ability to dig up dirt on anyone. Cas you wound me. Hookers are a valuable business, killed a lot of pimps in my day, they tell some pretty interesting stories. I don’t know what it is with Americans and eastern European women. Yeah they’re good looking but god damn they’re obsessed! 

“Wasn’t hard finding a couple girls through some old mob contacts who’d had a little fun with some of the men in charge of her case. Men in suits are fucked in the head let me tell you, some of the stories they had grossed me out and I’ve had to replace a man’s tonsils with his testicles. With the right phone number and enough pictures to silence any argument, I managed to strong arm them into getting her her own cell and arranged a convenient power blackout for the cameras. Suited guys got her out and into a shipping container headed my way. Smelled kinda like fish when she got here but she was interested.

“Willing to cooperate fully and trust me? Oh Hell no, it took us a long time to stop sleeping with knives under our pillow and trust each other. There was a lot of mutual respect that needed to develop since she’s not the type to be pushed around.

“And well, it just evolved from there,” sighed Dean, “word got out around in my old crowd and our business exploded. Started making money, a shit ton of money actually. Enough to slip into the pockets of even the men that held you captive. Did a bunch of renovations, including the maze structure inside the House. It was made so anything that escaped would be trapped. If you knock out one staircase the entire upper floors are screwed.”

“That place screams fire hazard Dean,” said Cas, “seriously someone lights a match and I feel like need to have a firehose handy.”

Dean just smiled and kicked a stone off the path. 

“C’mon, we should get back. We need to ice your knee before it gets too inflamed.”

“Dean, there’s a gaping hole in my bone it’s going to be inflamed no matter how much ice you put on it.”

“Shut up Cas.”

 

~  
The fire crackled and hissed pleasantly as Charlie threw an armful of timber into the flames. She groaned and stretched her back, wincing at the popping sound it made. “Damn that stuffs heavy. Okay, Dean from now on you’re the lumber boy.”

Dean laughed and stirred the ashes of the fire with a stick, “Fine, fine. Or we can just make Cas go do it. I mean that knee can’t be too bad right?”

Cas glowered and made a rude gesture at Dean. He smiled again.

He’s gotta stop doing that, it’s disgustingly cute

When they’d finally gotten back, Cas needed to sit for a long while and Dean didn’t feel like being cooped up yet, so Charlie had suggested a bonfire since it was a decent night. 

Charlie clapped her hands together and turned her head to look at Cas once she’d sat, “So Cas now that we’re alone, obligatory tattoo interview time!”

“Yeah Cas,” interjected Dean, “You’re freaking covered man, you’ve got more than anyone else here. Do you know how many you have now?”

Cas whistled and started counting in his head. “I don’t even know to be honest. Half of them were just crappy prison ones and the other half I don’t even remember getting. Uhh, well let’s see I guess.”

He undid the knot on his shirt and slid it over his head, ignoring the whistles and cat calls from the pair sitting across from him. His chest was a random mismatched mess of smaller pieces, except for two under his pecs. A large weeping willow and a broken cross were painted under his left, and small coordinates were under the left. 

“These two hurt the most, even more than the wings, which is saying something because those fucking hurt. The tree was the first thing I ever got, symbolism and all that jazz. The coordinates are for the north star. So I could always find my way home. Yeah yeah laugh it up you were stupid teenager too.”

His stomach was made up of the roots of the willow and various lines of script. Poems and lyrics he’d thought were cool when he was seventeen were jammed together in scrolling text down to his pant line. 

“I went through a bit of a uh, hardcore punk style rebellion phase when I was a teenager. I had the jacket and everything. It was mostly to piss my dad off since he thought they were spawns of the devil, and it was a decent excuse for bruises.”

Charlie moaned and covered her eyes, “Oh god, please, pleeassee tell me you didn’t have dreads? If you had dreads I’m banishing you from my sight immediately.”

“No I didn’t have dreads. My hair was pretty long though, had a really bad blonde dye job for awhile.”

Charlie was giggling to herself with a hand over her mouth.

“Oh god, what?”

“No. no it’s nothing,” she assured, “I’m just picturing you with like a two foot high purple and green mohawk is all.”

“Lord, like one of the terrible 80s ones?”

“Yes! Exactly, like some kid who listened to way too much Misfits.”

“Alright, alright,” cut in Cas, “I assure you it was nothing like that. And while I do like them, it wasn’t quite that extreme.”

“Oh that’s no fun.”

Cas rolled his eyes and continued, “Anyway, after that, I didn’t get anything until the wings really, but I kind of went nuts after that.”

He stretched out his arms in front of him to get a better look at the green tinged feathers. “These cost a shit ton of money, like close to a grand because of the details. I had to sleep on my stomach for two weeks while they healed, which was not the best time of my life. The look on the artists face was hilarious when I said that I wanted the wings to be rotten. Probably thought I was some crazy satan worshipper.”

Cas rolled his arms to get a better look at his forearms. “These are mostly just scribbles I either did myself or that got done in prison. There’s a lot of sigils, for protection and stuff against demons and whatnot. I’ve got the spider web on my elbow.”

He pointed to a demonic looking figure on his bicep that looked like it’d crawled out of a horror movie. “This is a wendigo. One of the guys I was in the first time on vandalism charges with was Algonquian and told me all about these little beasts. They’re born when someone resorts to cannibalism and usually represent greed and all that. I figured it was appropriate, reminded me what I’d turn into if I let my crazy murdering desires manifest more often. We met up when I got out, and he did this for me.”

Cas rolled up his pant legs and tapped his thigh, “More random cheap ass tattoos, nothing really special there. There’s one on my back, it’s a card deck. All heart suites, that’s a specific prison tattoo that I didn’t want, but it happened anyway so. I was too drunk on pruno to really to really struggle. I’d love to get it covered up with someone but unless there’s a tattooer in the House I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

Dean whistled and examined Cas, “Pretty impressive. Hey Charlie, didn’t you say you have a tattoo?”

She rolled her eyes and groaned, “Yeah and you’re not seeing it. I’m not in the mood to strip.”

They stuck their tongues out at each other and Cas couldn’t help but smile. They really were more like siblings than anything else. “What about you Dean, you got any ink?”

He shook his head, “Nope, not one. I don’t have time to take care of them.”

They both booed and Dean just rolled his eyes. 

“Well boys,” said Charlie as she wiped her hands on her jeans, “Love to stay and chat, but I have business elsewhere.”

“Aw what?” whined Cas.

“Yeah I know, but I’ve got important stuff to do. Don’t party too hard okay?”

They nodded and she walked off back into the House. The fire pit was just out back and big enough to have massive bonfires, but tonight it was just the two of them. Cas was content to just sit back and watch the fire, but Dean looked troubled the minute Charlie was out of sight.   
“Hey, what’s up?”

Dean folded his arms together and looked at Cas, “No one’s really found out about this yet Cas, only Chuck and a few others know and you can’t mention it to anyone. And I mean it no one finds out anything.”

He nodded and leaned forward.

“We found someone dead in the second floor bathroom.”

Cas’ eyes grew wide and he made sure he’d been hearing Dean right. “You mean one of us?”

“Yeah,” he said, “His name was Alfie, just kid who did a lot of the grunt work in the villages. He helped Chuck out too. He’d been completely gutted and left in the middle of the floor. They wanted him to be found.”

“How do you know it was more than one person?” asked Cas, puzzled.

“Alfie was a strong kid despite his age. And there were bruising marks around his wrists that weren’t from rope. A pair of people, maybe even three held him down while another slit him down the middle and left him on the floor. No one uses that bathroom, so we think he’d been there for a few days.”

He was completely taken aback. Friendly competition was normal in the House, but straight up murder was unheard of. No one had ever laid a hand on another member, it was the same punishment usually administered for failing a task directly handed to you by the Head. “Why would someone want to do that? I mean yeah we’re all murderers, but killing each other just puts everyone at risk and makes everyone uneasy.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” sighed Dean. He rubbed his eyes, “I don’t want a house of trigger happy ex convicts. They’re doing it to make a point and so far Chuck, Charlie and I have two theories.”

“Number one,” he ticked off on one hand, “is that they’re pissed they haven’t been getting enough people to fuck around with. Not surprising but that’ll be easier to deal with. Number two is you.”

“What?”

“I’ve never been lenient on punishments Cas, you’re supposed to be dead. Breaking your knee was harsh but to them it seems like you got off easy. Drowning versus maybe having a limp for the rest of your life. One seems a lot worse than the other doesn’t it?”

Cas swallowed, “Dean, if they’re doing this because of me, what’s going to happen to me?”

“Absolutely nothing. I’ve been meaning to tell everyone I want to change the punishments. I’ve had to put some of my best men down because they failed at a task or didn’t do amazingly. Nothing will happen Cas, but if you want to take my advice, stay the Hell away from any long, dark hallways and try not to be alone. And start carrying something with you, just in case.”

 

~  
Breakfast seemed to be going fine as usual, but then Chuck had to ruin it.

The doors of the hall slammed open and cracked loudly against the wall, echoing through the rows and silencing everyone almost instantly.

Chuck looked terrible, pale as a sheet, sweating, bug eyes popping out of his head as he panted. 

“There’s another body.”

Terrified murmurs raced through the crowd, people translating for their brothers and sisters who didn’t understand what he was saying. Whispers of possible people rippled through the crowd as everyone tried to remember who was out on supply runs and who was still in bed. Names were called as friends searched for friends making sure they weren’t sitting dead at some point in the House. Many others were sitting chittering about the fact that Chuck had said another rather than a. 

“Well who is it!” cried an Argentinian man at the back of the room. 

Chuck was too busy leaning against the door hyperventilating to answer him, so the mob stood up nearly in sync and stormed out, determined to put a face to the body. Cas joined them, looking around for friends in the crowd but finding nothing but snickers from fellow Housemates and the odd elbow in his already burning chest. 

Charlie must be on the run, she said she had somewhere to be otherwise she’d be in the middle of this

He wrapped Chuck’s arm around his neck and hauled him to his feet before he was trampled under steel toed boots. “Where is it Chuck? Where’d you find them?”

“I-in the cooler. But Cas man, you don’t want to go down there it’s nasty man,” he wheezed.

He rolled his eyes and set Chuck down next to the stairs, “I’ll be fine, you forget what I do here.”

“Just don’t let Dean see okay?”

The request made Cas’ heart flutter nervously, who could it be that would upset him so much? Nodding briefly, he followed the instructions given to him and went to find the cooler, trying to ignore the list of names growing in the back of his mind.  
~  
“Oh no….”

“Oh my god, what are we going to do?”

“He’s going to freak!”

“Îmi pare rău pentru nenorocitul care a făcut asta.”

“Ми так мертвий.”

Cas shoved his way through the crowd, cursing up a storm when people wouldn’t move. He hurled swears at people he hadn’t even known existed, but the effect was lost on those who didn’t speak russian. They got the hint though and stood aside knowing Cas only reverted back to his language when he was either pissed or extremely drunk.

When Cas got to the front, chest heaving with exhaustion and shivering from the cold, his heart seemed to stop all together. It was the last person he’d wanted to see. 

Charlie lay propped up against a shelf with her head tilted back. Her neck had been slashed so deeply she’d nearly been decapitated, and the knife responsible had been buried in the stump. 

Sword in a stone

The blood was smeared everywhere, on her face, her hands, the floor, her clothes. Her eyes were half open, dead and looking up at the metal ceiling of the freezer. There was something so alien about the body. He saw dead people nearly every day, fuck he contributed to those dead people he saw being hacked up by the furnace people, but Charlie was his friend. The people they murdered on a daily basis almost didn’t seem like people since they knew nothing about them, but killing Charlie had a purpose. It was personal, deeply so. They were making a point. He lived in a house of murderers but they were civilized people; this was the act of a wild dog. 

Angry grunts sounded from the crowd that had piled into the freezer. Cas turned to see someone bulldozing through it and sending people tumbling. 

Oh no

Pushing himself through the crowd, Cas found himself in front of Dean. His eyes were blazing and his face was set in a wolfish snarl. He looked like a bomb about to detonate any second now. Cas put his hands on his chest and looked up at him, trying desperately to get his attention.

“Dean, Dean please you need to listen to me. You can’t see this, we’ll take care of it just don’t go any further.”

SMACK!

Cas was pushed backwards into a cluster of people by the force of Dean’s backhand. A ring bit into his cheek and torn a thin line down it, right overtop of the scar on his cheekbone.

Unfazed, he carried on but now the crowd split for him with a begging Cas following in his wake unable to stop the machine. When the final wave of people parted he stopped dead in his tracks, to Cas it even looked like his breathing had stopped. 

“D-Dean, look I’m so s-”

“Did you do it Cas?”

His voice was a battleground for his emotions, sadness struggling to overtake pure rage.

“What! No, no, Dean of course I didn’t!” stammered Cas.

He cocked his head at Cas, hatred in his eyes, “Then don’t apologize. Save it for the fucker who did this, that man’s going to discover another circle of Hell.”

Nobody knew what to say, so they didn’t say anything at all. They just stood unmoving in the room while Dean stared at the corpse, waiting for some kind direction from their Fearless Leader. 

“Someone tell Chuck to start preparations for a funeral. General’s level, to be done by tonight. Everyone who isn’t under his division, you get the day off. Stay out of my sight until the sun starts setting. You know what to do then, and attendance is mandatory.”

Dean radiated an aura of instability so the houseguests were more than happy to oblige their master. The only one who stuck around was Cas, unsure of what to do. “Dean, if there’s anything I can do just let me know.”

Snarling Dean whipped around and grabbed Cas by the throat, pinning him up against the wall. Any there was was an empty void, no trace of humanity left in his eyes. “You better get the fuck out of my sight you piece of shit. This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t here and you know it. I feel disgusting just touching you right now. Considering what we do it’s a little out of character, but you’re a fucking murderer Cas.”

He took Cas by the shirt and threw him into the corner near Charlie’s corpse, the cool, nearly gel like blood stained his hands and clothes. “This is all on you, I might as well just throw you to the goddamn wolves like the bitch you are.”

“I don’t want to see you again until the funeral, and you’re going to be front and center the entire time. You’re going to see what you’ve done.”  
~  
According to Chuck, General’s level was the highest burial ceremony anyone could have. When a grunt died, they were simply tossed in the ground with a scalpel to mark their spot. General’s on the other hand got a full on ceremony. 

Two hours before the final rites, everyone gathered at the back of the house. The six people acting as pallbearers would lift the body on a cotton sheet supported by two wooden poles with handles for them all to hold. Once the Head gave the sign, the march began. 

It was a long walk uphill to the site, and no sound other than the monotone chants and funeral songs was to be made. The Head walked first, swinging a thurible which burned a mix of lavender and frankincense. Then the pallbearers walked a few feet behind, followed by the rest of the houseguests. The smoke burned Cas’ eyes and made them water, but he knew he just had to suck it up and keep walking. It smelled nice at least, but the lavender made him drowsy. He’d had a special sleeping mask as a kid that had the herbs sewn inside to help the wearer sleep and the memory made his eyelids flutter. 

People began singing when they reached the river and as each person stepped in another voice was added. The songs of the people began to swell as they climbed upward, various languages swirling together in a deep all encompassing voice. Cas didn’t know the songs obviously taught to these people, so he quietly sung his own lullaby hoping no one else spoke Russian. He could pick apart various strings of words to the song, which sounded old and like something they’d sing in an ancient church. 

Even in death may you strike down  
The servants sent by God who have taken you   
Let their promises of false light be in vain  
And our cry of freedom guide you  
May you make your place in Hell known  
May you reserve a spot for us when it is our time  
Your fight is not yet over dear friend  
Stow your white flag for another day  
For now is the day for flame

Jolts of pain seared through his leg with every step from his ruined knee. It was agony trying to put weight on it without his mountain of painkillers to numb it for him, but it wasn’t allowed before the march. No food, medicine, or water was allowed in the hours beforehand, it was seen as disrespectful to the dead to partake in what they no longer could. 

The House had been fully functional for about a decade, but it already seemed to have its own independent culture. 

“It’s got a mind of it’s own.”

It started to get a little harder to breath the closer to the top they got. The burial ground was at the top of a drop off ridge. The bodies were supposed to be as close to the sky as possible 

 

At the top of the cliff was a collection of oak trees, roots wrapped firmly around the brittle skeletonized remains of several persons chaotically thrown around in the dirt. Ancient offerings lay scattered around the bones, mixed in with personal items and religious icons at their feet. Rusted and tarnished jewelry was tossed about in the thick layer of dead leaves at the feet of the trees, Cas spotted pieces that had to have been worth thousands. Some of the corpses had wedding rings that hung loosely off their finger bones. 

He’d heard of sky burials before, but the trees seemed there to safeguard at least parts of the corpses. Their spirits would be free but the trees would grow in the rotting mess of the corpse. A fitting tombstone, life coming from the body of a person who’d caused so much death. 

Dean stopped at the very top of the cliff which ended in a sharp drop off and turned to face the crowd. The wind howled, tearing his words away from him and making it difficult to hear as he spoke. His eyes were red like he’d been trying not to cry, but Cas suspected it was from the smoke. He’d never let himself cry in front of everyone. 

“We have come to this place to say a goodbye. A goodbye that should not have been said for many years, or in such a sad way. Our dearest sister was the most amazing person I knew, and I hate that I have to say that now in a past tense. What can I say about such a wonderful girl? And I say girl on purpose, she was twenty seven when she died. Everyone in this place will feel a little more empty without her here, and I hope that the fucker who made us gather here will be found out and destroyed, so she may sleep in peace. May she find happiness, and may she rest easy.”

Nearly in sync, the crowd place their left hand on their hearts and turned their heads skyward. Dean did the same, but faced the body in front of him and the sunset. It seemed to set the entire sky ablaze with streaks of orange and reds.

What a fitting end scene for an arsonist

 

Cas was taken aback when the entire crowd, lead by Dean, began to sing. While theirs was more of a chant, Dean’s was pure power. All of his energy went into the song, pushing each note out with such a force that matched a general urging his troops into a final battle they knew wouldn’t end well. 

There is, a house,  
In New Orleans,  
They call the Rising Sun.  
And it’s been the ruin,  
Of many a poor boy,  
And God, I know I’m one.

It was either drown in the vicious sea of voices or do his best to be heard.   
~

The week after the funeral was strange in many ways. No one spoke her name at all, no one even mentioned anything about the funeral or her death or anything at all. Dean didn’t come down from his office at all, and Chuck was away on a long delivery run. 

He’d had nothing to do since Dean was completely shut away and he couldn’t stand for long enough to try out a new client just yet, so he hobbled around the House a lot and tried to talk to people. Most weren’t interested and flat out told him to piss off. 

Cas had never felt so isolated in his life. Everyone had loved Charlie, and even though no one said anything about it Cas knew they blamed him. These people were supposed to accept him, but now his own had rejected him and he didn’t know where he was supposed to go. He’d been thinking about asking Dean for a vacation, just to let his knee heal and to get away from all the eyes staring daggers into his back. 

“Birdyyyyy.”

He looked up to see a Walker balanced on his tiptoes on the beams above his head. He’d been hiding out in the courtyard since this late in the evening they were inside doing whatever it is they did. “Yeah, what can I get you?”

“Big Man, wants to see you. Says it’s something about the tall flame that went out a few days ago. Wants you to be there at seven. Six now.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in a moment.”

He leaned on his crutch and started half hopping his way to Dean. If he wanted to talk about Charlie he’d need time to mentally prepare himself.   
The stairs were the hardest part of the House for him. He had to basically drag his injured leg up the steps without tripping and landing face first into the carpet which was much harder than it seemed. He stopped for a moment at the top to rest and shook out the numb feeling in his fingers. A creak behind him froze him solid and he whipped around to see if there was someone trying to creep up behind him. There was nobody around, it was just an empty hallway filled with old paintings. He sighed in relief and turned back around only to be greeted with a pipe to the side of his head. Cas was unconscious before he hit the floor. 

~  
Cas awoke to darkness. A thick, black, veil that enveloped his entire being and crushed into his chest like a child was sitting on him. For a moment he thought he’d been blindfolded, but raising a hand to his eyes there was no fabric bound to him. His mouth tasted like tin and the back of his head ached horribly. The pain in his head reminded him of his sixteenth birthday, when his remaining brother had bought him a cheap bottle of white wine and they’d chugged the entire thing. He hadn’t been able to even move the next day.

He knew he was lying down wherever he was, on his back with his arms at his sides. It was stuffy and warm, like the inside of an oven. 

Did they put me inside the furnace or something as a joke? I mean I knew a few of them were pranksters but...

Curious, he raised a hand to try and grab at something, like a chord for a light, but was shocked when his knuckles struck something only inches from his face. It felt like a plank of wood. 

Slowly he grew frantic, tapping wildly at the wood box he had realized he was enclosed in. It completely surrounded him on all sides, encasing him. His feet were flat against the bottom and his head was only centimeters away from the top. It was maybe a meter wide at his shoulders, six and a quarter feet long at most length wise. Cas tried to move his arms over his head, but his elbows banged hard against the wood and sent a cascade of dirt into his eyes and mouth. Dirt? Pieces began to form a puzzle in his head creating a pictures that tore the air from his lungs in a banshee like wail. Something he’d always feared deep down had suddenly become his reality. 

Oh no, please god no. No, nonononono.

His heart was beating like a war drum. He took breath breaths but they didn’t seem to do anything for him except make his heart beat even faster. Small taps turning into a frantic beating as he slammed his fist against the roof, crying out from the pain when the skin over his knuckles split and blood dripped down his hands. Cradling the wounded hand to his chest, Cas raked his nails against the surface of the box. Splinters found their way under his nails before they were lifted back completely, but it didn’t stop him. He needed to get out of here, needed to find Dean and tell him what had happened. They could punish those responsible, but their faces were still hazy in Cas’ mind, so he lied to himself and told himself they’d serve punishment. 

He scraped his fingers against the wood until it felt like they’d struck bone and the pain became too much for even his hysterics to cover up. Needles of pain shot through his hands, the nearly useless appendages were full of splinters and dirt that had been ground into the flesh beneath his skin. Cas knew he needed to calm down if he wanted any hope of staying alive long enough to be saved but of course that meant taking deep breaths which in turn made him even more panicked about how much air he was consuming. He’d always fantasized about doing this to someone, but now being in the situation he regretted even thinking about it. How could someone have done this?

Least we’ll pass out before we die right? Small miracles I guess

Cas wanted to just roll on his side and cry, but the coffin wasn’t big enough. He didn’t have the room to punch a hole in the box and dig through. They’d taken his shoes so he didn’t have the force to kick one either even if his busted knee had allowed it. Any chance for his escape had been clearly thought out and prevented; he wasn’t in some B action movie, this was real and people wanted him dead. They weren’t cocky enough to leave a cellphone with half a battery lying around or even a lighter with half the fluid still inside. No these people were born and bred killers and they weren’t interested in toying with their prey. 

People forget that they’re in constant control of their own lives. No matter what happens, you can take it back and get what you want. It’s a terrifying reality that most people just ignore because it’s too frightening to really think about. Once you know you can really do whatever you please it leaves very little room for complaining.

But having that freedom ripped away with six feet of dirt separating him, Cas had to wonder if it was fate finally stepping in and making him pay for what he’d done since some choices just weren’t supposed to be made.   
~  
Dean had become troubled only ten minutes ago when Cas hadn’t shown up at his door like he’d been paged. Now it was half an hour ago and he was extremely worried. 

Cas had his flaws, but he made a point in being always on time or arriving with a host of apologies should he be late. But he was never this late, it’d send the man into a panic attack if he was. It was one of his worser qualities. He’d even asked a few people to go looking for him.

With the killer somehow wandering the halls of his House, it made his anxiety grow. He’d pissed a lot of people off when he’d spared Cas, but he’d figured the shattered knee and foot would at least appease a few people. It must have seemed like more of a mockery since he couldn’t even cripple him completely. 

Dean had been making a list in his head for weeks of who the possible culprit could be. He didn’t have to worry about who’d actually have the capabilities to kill but he was no sleuth. Dean barely knew what to look for. For a moment he wished he’d started some little bakery out in a small town rather than flip an institution and murder for a living.

He started to pace around the room, rubbing his temples and trying to calm himself down. 

Cas is fine, he probably just got lost in the hallways or something. Or someone’s talking to him, or maybe he’s just asleep. They wouldn’t go after Cas, they know what that would do. Fuck it’d be anarchy. 

There’d been a divide in the House lately, that much had been painstakingly obvious. People who were still on his side, and people who didn’t think his rule was worth it’s weight in shit. Chuck had been the neutral party that refused to talk to Dean about much, but he’d worn him down after a few drinks and some threats. According to Chuck, both sides had some pretty massive players on it but they were uneven and constantly fluctuating. The side supporting him could have as much as three quarters of the House, then by noon have less than half. Fear kept a lot of people supporting him, but fear was better than nothing.

Knock Knock  
~  
What if Dean doesn’t come? What if he was the one who did this? Is this my punishment for fucking up? What if the knee was just the start?”  
~

The sudden pounding on his door made Dean jump. He hissed at himself for being so worked up.

“Come in.”

Alastair popped his head through the door and smiled. Dean swore that he could make fruit rot with that grin.

“What can I help you with Alastair?”

“Sorry,” he said, sounding like he was restraining himself from laughing, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just hurry up and talk.”

He stepped inside the office and closed the door. He started walking aimlessly around the room, hands behind his back as he walked. Dean noticed there was an odd smell coming from him, like wet earth and alcohol mixed together. “We’ve searched everywhere for him Dean, unfortunately there’s been no sign of him on the grounds or surrounding forests.”

His breath snuck, like dead things and stagnant water. Such a repulsive man.

“Thank you Alastair, now go look again. He wouldn’t leave and he might have gotten himself hurt” said Dean.

“I’m sorry, ehm, Sir, but forgive me for saying,” giggled Alastair, “Shouldn’t you be counting this as a blessing?”  
~  
Dean wouldn’t do that would he? No, no he wouldn’t do that to me. Least I don’t think he would. I mean how much do I know about this guy? Everything he told me could have been a lie, Jesus Christ I don’t know! He said it was all my fault, is this his revenge for Charlie? God what did I do..  
~

Dean turned on his heel, “Excuse me?”  
“I mean,” huffed Alastair, “look at the mess he’s caused you. Honestly Dean, take it from one of your friends. He’s done nothing but stir this place up. Half of this place secretly wants your head on a pretty little pike.”

“Cas is one of us,” snarled Dean, “and he’s going to be treated like one of us. We look out for our brothers and sisters, even if we don’t like them. Otherwise his ass is going to wind up in an electric chair and they could follow the trail back here.”

“Don’t pretend that you’re worried about all of us equally. We all know that kid has some special place in that little black heart of yours. We’re not blind Dean, but you clearly are.”

“My feelings have no part in this!” shouted Dean.  
“Oh of course they do, otherwise you would have just set the wolves loose on him and we’d be done and over with. Just because your heart’s all aflutter for this jackass doesn’t mean the rest of us have anything for him.”

“Why are you still here Alastair? You’ve clearly said your bit, now get out.”  
~  
Does Dean, does Dean hate… me? Did I really mess things up that badly?  
~

“No.”

Dean was taken aback, “Excuse me?”

“No,” he stated, crossing his arms, “I’m not leaving. And not taking orders from a man who can’t even control his emotions. It’s too easy to toy with you Dean, and we’re not your family. None of us are ,not anymore.”

Alastair looked disappointed, “I had such hope Dean, this was your last chance. If you’d passed everything would have gone back to normal. We could have carried on like before.”

A light lit up in Dean’s head.

“What did you do to Cas.”

He smiled, yellowed teeth flashing like dirty knives, “The exact same thing I did to the others. Well, it’s a work in progress. Has been for some time now. About… two hours I would say. Really it’s some of my finest work.”  
~   
The air in the coffin was getting thin, and Cas could feel his eyes starting to flutter shut. He couldn’t fight the urge for very much longer, and the darkness seemed to be getting thicker.

Dean will save me. He got me out of jail, he’ll find me. He’ll get to me in time. I believe in him. I love him, and when I get out of here I’m going to tell him. Dean will save me.   
~

The others… 

Dean didn’t bother hiding the horror on his face, “You mean, Charlie and the rest, you’re the one who did that?”

He stuck his hands in the air like he was surrendering, but the look on his face was nothing but ferocity, “I confess, my hands were the ones who sullied this poor House. Charlie really wasn’t supposed to be on the list, but she’s a smart girl and that just wouldn’t do. She had a hunch it was one of us, she’d been suspicious of us since the beginning. It really was a shame, such a master of her craft. But I can’t take all the credit as much as I’d like. My hands and another’s brains. Can you guess who?”

“Crowley, that fucker.”

“Ding, there we go. He’s the one that lost hope in you, but I still had some form of it. That’s gone now, obviously.”

Dean lunged forward and grabbed Alastair by the lapels of his shirt, lifting him off the ground and shaking him like a ragdoll, “What did you to Cas? Where is he? And where’s Crowley? That rat bastard is going to pay, same as you.”

“You know Dean,” said Alastair, who sounded completely calm, “When you’re asking people something you usually say please.”

He threw Alastair to the side, smashing him into the china cabinet and shattering everything inside. Alastair’s face was cut to ribbons, pieces of porcelain embedded into this skin but still he wouldn’t wipe that nasty grin off his face. “Nice try kiddo, but loose lips sink ships. Besides, what can you do to hurt me?”

Dean knew he was right. Alastair was a masochist unlike any he’d ever seen; any pain he inflicted on him would only make him laugh. Crowley was the same, but there was something he could do. It was more than he deserved, but he had a feeling even if he threw him in a vat of oil Alastair wasn’t going to say a thing. 

He strode over and knelt down. He placed on hand on Alastair’s chin and slid the other one into his hair, and jerked the man’s head sideways. The bone wet with a sickening, wet crack noise, but it was like breaking a rotten twig. 

Tossing the corpse aside, he flung open the door and started down the hall. Slipping the Srbosjek out of his pocket and securing it on his hand, he slid his finger along the edge to test it. The blade bit and tore open the flesh like it was nothing but air. He hadn’t used the thing in years, but his old friend was yet to disappoint him. 

It was likely that Crowley would be downstairs somewhere; it had the most escape points out of the entire House and even though you weren’t supposed to be down there unless you were on duty, Crowley was usually dissecting something in the furnace room anyway. He seemed at home amide the jugs of spare gas they kept for the Jeeps and obnoxiously warm heat that came from the furnace. 

People tried to stop and talk to him along the way but he shouldered and elbowed them aside, ignoring anyone who was trying to delay him. Some were more persistent, standing in front of him and trying to lead him aside but it couldn’t stop him. If they had put a brick wall in front of him he’d have punched his way through until his hands had broken. Many, seeing the blade in his hand, just jumped back against the wall and prayed for whoever he was going after. 

News of his rampage spread, more people flooded out of their rooms to watch their boss storm down the hallways. Some were smart enough to ignore him and stay inside, others limped back to their rooms with broken noses and wrists to nurse. Dean knew he was on some sort of a timer, an hourglass that he couldn’t see was hanging over his head and it was maddening. Not knowing if Cas would die in the next few hours or the next few seconds kept his feet moving at a steady pace. 

He jumped down the stairs six at a time, landing on soft cat feet and bending his knees to absorb the shock so no one could hear him. Stealth was going to be important even if Crowley was expecting him, if he heard him coming he could be in a better position and wait for Dean to come. Dean slowed his breathing since down here, even the smallest of noises would echo and resound down the hallways. He was careful to avoid any puddles or little stones that littered the floor since kicking them would be a death sentence. 

The door to the furnace room was closed

Damn it

If Crowley was hiding behind it, the moment he stuck his arm through he could have a blade in it and weaken Dean. The bugger was surprisingly fast for an older man. 

Well, guess there’s one option then

Lifting his leg up and twisting to the side, Dean slammed his foot into the door and smashed right through the aged wood. It swung back and hit the wall with a bang.

Crowley was sitting on the table in between a pile of corpses, cleaning his fingernails with a knife. “Oh hello Dean, didn’t expect to see you down here at this time of day.”

“Cut the bullshit Crowley,” barked Dean, “You know what I’m doing here, and this will go a lot quicker for you if you cooperate.”

“What’s the fun in that? You’re going to kill me anyway Dean, I’m not stupid. Even if I did tell you, which I’m not going to, where your little angel boy is, I get the short end of the stick no matter what! I don’t really feel like dying today, but judging by that look in your eye my little associate failed his job miserably.”

Dean stalked Crowley over and lifted him by the lapels of his jacket and stared down at him, “Crowley. Tell me where Cas is, what did you do to him? If you don’t tell me, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to eviscerate you. You’re going to be force fed your own guts and have to cook them yourself. I’ll stuff your mouth full of shit and sew it shut, I’ll replace your goddamn eyes with your testicles if you don’t tell me where you put him.”

Crowley’s skin went white. The main difference between him and Alistair was that Crowley actually valued his life. “Your little friend isn’t that far away Dean. You just haven’t been looking deep enough. I wouldn’t just stick a knife in his back and dump him in the forest, that boy’s gotten off way too easy. 

“I’ll tell you what we did, but not where he is. We tucked him away someplace nothing can hurt him. In fact, no one can touch him besides maybe a few creepy crawlies. He’s safe Dean, but he’s on a time limit, and he hasn’t got much left.”

Dean dropped Crowley as he came to the realization of what they done. It made him feel sick

“Did you… did you bury him somewhere?”

“Ah,” he sighed, “there it is. Coffin’s not very big Dean, probably hasn’t got much air left at this point in the game. We figured it was appropriate, you give him all the freedoms in the world so we have to be the ones to take it away. It’s fair Dean, he was supposed to die for what he did now it’s just going to take a little while. It’s no big deal, honestly how did this place respect you for so long?”

Crowley scoffed, “You act all big and scary with your fancy throat cutter and big muscles, but that little piece of jailbait comes along and you lose your mind. It’s pathetic Dean.”

Dean clenched his hand around the srbosjek, feeling the old leather creak under his grip. It would feel so nice to plunge the blade into Crowley’s throat and watch him bleed like a stuck pig, but he still needed to know where Cas was. 

“Crowley,” he warned, voice low, “Tell me where you put Cas.”

“Oh Dean, see that’s your problem,” groaned Crowley, “You’re just a beefcake with one hell of a jawline. All smoke and mirrors. If I give you Cas, we’ll be in a worse spot because everyone in this House is going to be pissed. You know how much he’s hated here? Little man walks in with some fancy tattoos and you give him the royal treatment that doesn’t sit right with anyone. That’s why Charlie had to die Dean, to wake you up!”

WHACK

Dean drove his fist into Crowley’s nose as hard as he could. The cartilage turned to power under his fingers and Crowley staggered back cursing like a sailor. 

“You’ve got one more chance Crowley, or else I swear I’ll use your pelt as a rug.”

“Fine,” he snapped, “But just know Dean you’re just proving everyone in this place right by going after him like this. The alpha dogs turned into a bitch. He’s in the graveyard outside, you’ll be able to see the plot we buried him in.”

Dean turned to leave, but Crowley spoke up. 

“Dean this was for your own good. We wanted to help.”

He whipped around and clocked Crowley in the jaw before running back up the stairs.

‘  
The doors of the House flung open and Dean nearly tripped over his own feet stumbling down the stairs. His throat burned from panting but he needed to hurry. There was no way Cas had much air left, he didn’t have the time to wait. 

Crowley had said Cas was buried alongside everyone else in the House who’d failed and he had no choice but to trust him. Hopping over decaying plants and loose stones, he vaulted himself over the cemetery gate and scanned for any new plots. There was one, far in the back in the shade of a tree, just visible in the crumbling marble of the old stones. He ran over and collapsed to his knees.

The dirt was wet and cold beneath his fingertips, nearly frozen in the cold. Handful after handful he threw it aside, desperate to uncover wherever it was Cas was. Tears were burning in his eyes and his nails were being bent back scraping the rocks that were mixed in with the soil. For every clump he threw out the sides caved and what seemed like a foot more piled in. The hole had been dug much too big he realized, so the sides would have to be packed down in order for them to stay, but he didn’t have the time to reinforce them. He redoubled his efforts and threw as much of it out as he could to stop it from falling back in on him. 

Minutes ticked by, and every second Cas was closer to dying. 

He almost cried out in joy when his fingers caught on the jagged wood of a box. “Cas,” he yelled as he drummed a fist against the top, “Cas, hey Cas please dear God tell me you’re awake in there. Hey!”

There was no answer, not even a groan.

He scraped the dirt from the top and frantically ran his fingers along the edge trying to find any sort of clasp, but the box had been nailed shut. Bits of wood jabbed underneath his fingernails as he was trying to pry a nail out of the pine. It tore into the flesh and the wood was soaked with red. Dean jammed his fingers under the wood and pulled the wood up, but it wasn’t budging. They’d used all sorts of nails and locked clasps to ensure it wasn’t coming open anytime soon.

His mind was racing with a thousand different scenarios and he had to fight to think straight. It was so hard to pick one thought out of the chaotic mess it seemed nearly impossible. There was no way he could pry each individual nail out of the wood, but there had to be something he could do. 

Curling his hand into a fist, he slammed it down into the lid of the coffin. A large fissure split the wood, but it wasn’t enough to pry it off. He landed blow after blow on the lid until finally a piece dislocated itself from the wood. Ignoring the jagged edges he gripped it tightly and pulled back. It snapped off in his hands.

He could see a chest in the shadows of the box but it didn’t seem to be moving. 

“Cas!”

Piece by piece he threw chunks of the wood aside until bits and pieces of him were revealed, but Cas wasn’t moving. “Hey!”

Dean grabbed Cas and pulled him up through the hole in the coffin, setting him against the wall of the hole he’d dug. Cas was completely limp under his fingers, total and under dead weight. Dean was starting to panic, he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do. 

“Hey, Cas buddy come on man wake up,” he yelled, tapping the side of his face, “Cas come on, you got to breathe.”

He climbed out of the hole, hauling Cas with him and laid him on the ground. He pressed two fingers to his throat searching desperately for a pulse. There was one, but it was extremely weak and Dean didn’t know if Cas could hold on.

He crossed his hands over his chest and pushed in rhythm. CPR wasn’t something he’d done before but it was Cas’ best chance of surviving, there was no way he could call someone else that would be there in time. Dean tilted his head back and pressed his mouth to Cas’, exhaling and trying to ignore how cold his lips were. “Come on you bastard, you can’t die on me, not now. You can’t leave me like this, I had so much I wanted to give you.”

Tears burned his eyes but he didn’t want to take his hands away from Cas’ chest to wipe them off. If he even let up for a second Cas might die. “Come on!”

His heart lept out of his chest when Cas’ eyes and mouth snapped open and his body tensed. Cas groaned and exhaled loudly, falling against Dean unable to support himself. Dean yelped and hugged Cas tightly, sobbing while cursing his name in every language he knew. He hugged his friend and laughed, as relief flooded through his body. He glanced up at the sky and smiled. For once the gods seemed to be on his side. The angel maker wasn’t gone quite yet.

He wiped a hand across his nose and pulled back, only to have his face fall and something dreadful creep up his spine.

Cas was still limp, and his eyes weren’t focussed on Dean. 

The groan Cas had emitted had turned to a rattling noise at the bottom of his throat. It was far too dry and shaky, it wasn’t normal breathing. It sounded like someone was sitting on his chest, pushing the last of his air out his lungs. Hands shaking he pressed his fingers back to Cas’ throat, but this time found nothing. Nothing, not even a slight blip. 

Dean froze and looked up at Cas’ face.

His eyes were glassy and unmoving and stared blankly into the air behind his head. 

There was no life in his body at all.

Cas hadn’t been breathing, he realized. It had been his death rattle. 

In the more overactive parts of his brain, he’d imagined if anything happened to Cas, he’d be totally distraught. Tear his hair out, scream and cry, curse the world and it’s unfairness. He thought he’d cradle the body near to him and rock it, but it wasn’t it at all. He didn’t feel anything. His heart was empty, completely blank and void of anything. 

He didn’t feel in control of his body when he shifted Cas off of him and closed his eyes. His feet seemed to move on their own and directed him where he needed to go.   
~  
The basement of the House had always creeped Dean out to some degree. It was either too dark or too bright, to damp or too dry and he’d never seen an echo like it. But what he needed was down here, so he took a deep breath and turned corner after corner until he found it.

He felt nothing but contempt for the House now, it and everyone else inside it. House seemed to be a fitting title for it now, a house but not a home. Not anymore. Not for him, and not for anyone else if he got his way, which Dean always did in some form or another. Stalking down the halls some part of his brain warned against this, this was the one place he knew and loved. He’d built it from the ground up more or else, his family was here. His people, everyone he’d saved was here and no one could touch him here. 

That was a lie. This House had been the death of him. He knew what settling down did, made you too comfortable. He should have kept going, should have left every inmate he’d saved to rot in jail or choke on their own batch of hydrogen cyanide. But he’d been soft and tried to help, but helping did this. What was left of the family he’d built was gone, he couldn’t trust anyone in the House. Not anymore. It had suffocated him with its comforts, but it wasn’t going to hurt him anymore.

Crowley was still where he’d been left in a heaped pile on the floor. 

Good, his ass can serve as more tinder. 

Dean stopped in front of the furnace and examined all the dials until he found the one he was looking for. It would crank the fires to extreme levels, something he’d had installed as a backup just in case something happened and he needed to destroy the evidence. A day like today.

The flames started to rise and lick out the furnace door and the heat in the room grew to uncomfortable levels. He grabbed a length of lead pipe that was laying on a cart. They usually used them to pin people to cork boards, but it would have another use. He jammed an end into the grate covering the flames and pushed on his end. It was a crude crowbar, but it was effective and the grate fell to the floor. 

He shielded his face with his arm and trotted out of the room after grabbing a plastic jug filled with gasoline. By now it had most likely broken down, but it would still catch fire.. He closed the door behind him and started off back upstairs. 

Their furnace had another feature that he’d had specially installed. It was fed by dozens of pipes that leaked gas into the furnace that were nailed into the walls of the basement. 

A few metres down the hall, he grasped the pipe with both hands and swung it like a bat at one of the thinner pipes. The cast iron was made not to bend, but he’d had an aluminum alloy added to make it weaker. After a few whacks, it cracked and the smell of rotten eggs filled his nose. He gagged and lifted his shirt over his nose. 

Every few feet he’d knock another hole in the wall, but he needed to hurry. The door wouldn’t keep the flames contained for long and people upstairs would be wondering what all the commotion would be about. He jumped up the stairs and walked to the main foyer, dumping his pipe by the door and slipping his Srbosjek back on. The hastily constructed rope bridge cut like butter under the blade. As he was dismantling the last of it, a pair of men came running down the hall. He let out a cry as his foot slipped over the edge and his friend had to haul him back by his collar. They were screaming at him, but in the fog of his brain he couldn’t decipher what language it was and he really didn’t care. More people were attracted by the screams and came to investigate, but he paid them no mind. 

He turned and dumped a healthy portion of the gasoline on the other portion of the hallway that led to his office and the other dorms. He walked backwards down the stairs, pouring liberal amounts onto the old carpet and on the banister. The rest he dumped in a puddle on the floor. He dug a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it, staring mesmerized at the dancing yellow light. Looking at the gathering crowd at the end dead in the eye, he dropped it in the puddle on the bottom step and watch the flames race up the old carpet and cut off the one exit to the House. 

Old friends and comrades bellowed and shrieked at him, asking what the fuck he was doing in a million different languages. Some of them were probably innocent, but they’d done nothing to stop Cas’ death, so they were just as bad in his mind. 

He turned on his heel and walked towards the exit, picking up his metal bar as he did so. Before he opened them, he raised his hand in the air and made an obscene gesture in every culture he knew. 

Dean shut the doors for the last time as he stepped out and barred them with the pipe. People had already resorted to trying to bash out windows but they couldn’t have gotten through the bars if they tried. The House started to smell like sulphur, and Dean knew he should have been walking faster, but he stayed at a leisurely pace. 

On automatic, he walked over to the graveyard to where he’d left Cas propped up against a stone. Bending down, he slid an arm under his legs and held him up bridal style. Cas was heavy, but Dean could ignore the straining of his muscles and slowly walked out. 

BANG!

A loud, resounding boom echoed behind him as the place he used to love was blown to bits. Glass and plywood flew through the air and rained down like confetti.  
Dean, the entire place is a massive fire hazard!

He could hear Cas’ voice in his head, warning him of an intentional danger he’d placed so many years ago. The bang was defending, and his ears were ringing and popping but he wouldn’t stop. He turned his head to the burning wreck of his legacy and smiled. The bright oranges and red matched the setting sun behind him, making it indistinguishable from the sky behind it. 

Wolves howled in the distance, confused and scared by the loud noises coming from the place they were supposed to be guarding. Screams of pain and panic from those trapped in the House competed with them in a decibel match, but they fit so perfectly together. Dean was completely numb as he walked away down the path into the forest behind the House. It was a long walk to where he was going, but Cas deserved to be placed there. 

With beasts howling in the distance and the crackling sounds of his life cascading down behind him, Dean couldn’t help but smile. As he walked down the path, he couldn’t help but to open his mouth and sing.

There is a house, in New Orleans,  
They call the Rising Sun  
And it’s been the ruin  
Of many a poor boy  
And God, I know I’m one


End file.
